


Lucky Me Lucky You

by waywardrose



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Condoms, Don’t copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, counter-espionage, everyone ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrose/pseuds/waywardrose
Summary: You’d had big plans for your future. He’d had big plans, too. During senior year, you’d overheard him talking before class about joining the Army. You had thought about him in that service uniform and how handsome he would look.Thirteen years later, Clyde was tending bar, sans uniform and missing part of his left arm. At the same time, you were working at the data-entry/call-center down the road from the house you inherited from your late grandmother.So much for big plans.





	1. Chapter 1

The Logans were gorgeous. Everyone at Valley View High School had known it. Jimmy had been the perfect all-American quarterback. Mellie had been the beauty queen with the perfect nails. Clyde had been the quiet one who’d played a year of JV basketball.

However, they were  _unlucky_. Everyone on this side of the Little Coal River knew it. Their father, Walter, had perished in a puzzling mining incident. Three years later, Connie, their mother, had passed after a fight with cancer. Not to mention all the other unfortunate instances with the extended family.

Clyde had quit basketball by the end of that unfortunate school year. Mellie went from most popular girl in her year to insular ice queen. Jimmy had floundered as the new head of the Logan clan. His hot-headed girlfriend hadn’t helped matters. Then, Jimmy had suffered that devastating knee injury during a game and lost his scholarship.

You’d had plenty of classes with Clyde in high school, since you were the same year. His intelligent answers in class had always surprised you. He was perpetually on the honor roll. So, maybe your surprise wasn’t fair. Jocks could be smart. A lot of them were.

Just not at Valley View, you mentally retorted. And Clyde hadn’t been a jock, per se.

The jocks there had been morons who had been more interested in The Team than actual school. They drank gross Natty Light while camping on Bald Knob. You knew those “camping trips” were more about trying to get their respective dicks wet than anything else. It had been hilarious schadenfreude when a few of them had gotten crabs and had to shave off all their body hair and use an awful-smelling lotion.

You didn’t want to know how they’d collectively gotten crabs. You had ideas, but you didn’t want to think too much about it.

Anyway, the Logans were gorgeous. So what? It hadn’t meant much to you outside of a little fascination with the Logan clan. You had graduated with Clyde. You’d had big plans for your future. He’d had big plans, too. During senior year, you’d overheard him talking before class about joining the Army. You had thought about him in that service uniform and how handsome he would look.

Thirteen years later, Clyde was tending bar, sans uniform and missing part of his left arm. At the same time, you were working at the data-entry/call-center down the road from the house you inherited from your late grandmother. So much for big plans. Sure, you had become a homeowner before the age of thirty, but the little bungalow was only a step above a coal-camp house.

Nothing had worked out for either of you. You’d gotten a bachelor's and tried to find a job in Pittsburgh—where your accent was “cute.” However, you completely failed at getting anything better than temp front-desk jobs. Probably because they loved your sweet little voice being the first anyone heard when calling the company.

Those kind of temp jobs couldn’t pay the rent in a city like Pittsburgh. Your parents couldn’t keep transferring money to your bank account every month, either. So, you’d come home with your tail between your legs. During the day, you worked part-time at the new local Grocery Castle. At night, you’d slept in your childhood bedroom.

Then Granny’s health had taken a turn for the worse after a nasty fall. You’d moved into her cluttered second bedroom to take care of her. It had been okay with the help of senior home care. You’d gotten by. Between you and the nurses, Granny had gotten what she needed.

And then one frigid February morning, she hadn’t woken up.

After the funeral, her home was bleak and silent. Lifeless. Her orange half-filled pill organizer had still been on the kitchen counter. Her Ensure shakes were in the old clanking fridge. You had sat down at the laminate table in the kitchen, coat and salt-crusted shoes still on, and wondered how you were going to keep breathing.

Life was supposed to be better than this.

Somehow, you kept going, kept breathing. Your family collectively decided you should have Granny’s house. However, that meant your part-time job wouldn’t cut it. There was a brief panic to find another part-time job. Or an adequate full-time one.

That spring the call center had opened up, and you were one of the first to apply. Two years later, the company trained you to lead a small team. You were pleased with the position of team leader. The salary wasn’t much, but it was enough to make ends meet. The team liked you. Or liked you enough to invite you out for Thursday-night drinks.

This week it was your turn to be designated driver. Everyone was gathered around one of the pool tables in the billiard-section of the infamous Duck Tape Bar & Grill off 119. While you knew Clyde Logan worked at Duck Tape, you’d yet to see him on your Thursday ventures to the bar.

Your drunk coworkers were laughing and playfully arguing about the rules of 8-ball pool. You, on the other hand, were at one of the high tables to the side, listening to Tanya literally cry into her beer about her brother—who had the  _illustrious_  nickname of “Cooter.”

According to Tanya, Cooter was lying low to avoid a bench warrant for food-stamp fraud. You knew enough about Cooter from working at the Grocery Castle to know all accusations—no matter how outlandish—were justified. He was rude, a thief, and dumber than a box of hair. And he smelled bad, like old chewing tobacco and B.O.

But you couldn’t tell Tanya that. Sometimes you hated being designated driver. The role came with the added responsibility of being an amateur shrink and people wrangler.

With a sigh, you decided to cut Tanya off and get her a coffee to help sober her up. Your Coke was flat now, anyway. You softly shushed her and eased the pint glass out of her limp hand. She snuffled and used the damp paper napkin to blot at her face.

You told her you’d be back with a coffee. She croaked she liked one sugar and a ton of creamer in her coffee. You walked your half-full glass and her beer to the bar to see none other than Clyde Logan behind it. You wondered when he’d clocked in.

You tried to keep yourself from stumbling as you stared. He was more handsome than he’d been in high school. You didn’t know how that was possible. His almost-black hair was longer than you’d ever seen it. You wanted to run your hands through it. He had a goatee now, too, which drew attention to his full lips. You’d bet they were soft. Luckily, he was preoccupied with another customer and didn’t see you gawking at him. You put the two glasses on the bar and waited your turn.

And tried not to stare at him.

You really tried, but his ass was  _right there_  for the viewing. It wasn’t a round, perfect ass, but it filled out his dark jeans nicely. You liked his broad shoulders and the way his button-up shirt hugged his torso just enough to see he hadn’t gotten soft in the middle.

Before the chance of getting caught staring went to zero, you turned your focus to the big flat-screen mounted in the opposite corner. ESPN was muted on the TV and completely uninteresting. But it was better than looking dumbly around or slow-dancing with yourself to the Patsy Cline song coming from the jukebox.

Movement caught your eye, and you looked over to see Clyde heading your way. Recognition lit up his striking face. He grinned at you. His friendly brown eyes glinted in the low light. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, stranger.” He rested his right hand on the glossy wood counter while keeping the black prosthetic of his left tucked against his side.

“I’m surprised you recognize me,” you half-teased.

You didn’t know when he’d gotten so tall because you noticed his belt was even with the bar top. You briefly wondered if he’d been that tall in high school. He must’ve been, to do so well on the basketball team.

“Our graduating class wasn’t that big, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“We had a lot of classes together, too.”

You nodded as you perched on a barstool. “We did,” you said with a happy shrug, pleased that he would remember you.

He was quiet for a beat before he asked what he could get you. You told him you’d like a refresher on your Coke and a coffee for your friend—one sugar and a ton of creamer.

He glanced in Tanya’s direction. “Actually, water and a snack is better. If you’re looking to dry out your friend, that is.”

You asked him what he recommended. He suggested loaded potato skins. You okayed the order and watched him get an order pad from behind in the bar to jot down what you wanted. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a cold bottle of water from the under-bar cooler.

You thanked him and walked the water over to Tanya, overly aware of eyes on your back. You hoped you looked cute—you felt cute—and not overly wrinkled or sweaty. You had changed into non-work jeans with a few distressed patches at the thigh and knee and a black-and-white striped tank with a sheer floral-print kimono jacket over it. Your faux-leather sandals were plain, but comfortable. It was early summer, after all, and too hot to bother with more. And it was the Duck Tape, so a short-tight-and-shiny party dress would be ridiculous on a Thursday night.

Or any night, really.

Tanya was briefly confused by the water until you explained the situation. She looked over your shoulder and pouted. Evidently, she’d been looking forward to coffee. Well, you decided, too damn bad. She was sobering up the way a bartender would. You told her to drink some water and that you’d be back with the potato skins.

You headed to the bar to see Clyde wiping down the latest vacated spot. The lights above him highlighted his nose and cheekbones. It shone off his dark hair.

As you approached, he placed a fresh red plastic tumbler full of pop for you. You sat in front of him and asked him how he’d been doing these days.

“I can’t complain.” He draped the damp towel over a hook on the prep counter below the bar. “You?”

You stirred your drink with the straw and shrugged. “Working mostly.”

“Yeah, you’re at Alorica, right?”

You felt a strange warmth bloom in your chest. You smiled and nodded with a little affirmative sound. You wondered if Clyde Logan was keeping tabs on you. Granted, the town was small. But not  _that_ small. It wasn’t like everyone knew everyone else’s business.

You told him about your team at work and gestured behind you to the small group of your coworkers. You said you were designated driver for the night. He perked up at that and stated your Coke was on the house.

You frowned. “It’s never been before.”

“Well, that’s because I’ve never served you.”

“But now you are.”

He nodded. “Now I am, and it’s on me.”

“But, Clyde—”

From the kitchen pass-through, the cook announced an order was up. You both looked to see a plate with steaming, cheesy potato skins. He brought them to you, and you almost groaned at how good they looked. There was real bacon and chopped green onion on top of a gooey cheddar cheese/whipped potato mixture smothering the potato skins. In the middle of the plate was a little cup of seasoned sour cream.

Clyde asked you to wait a second and brought you a silverware napkin roll. You thanked him and took the appetizer to Tanya. She made grabby-hands at the food and barely acknowledged your presence. You wrote it off as drunkenness and returned to Clyde.

He was occupied with another customer, but had placed your drink on the prep counter. You leaned over the bar and retrieved it before getting out your debit card to pay the tab.

As you sat down, he came back to you and looked at your bank card sitting beside your drink.

He tapped the card with a finger of his prosthetic. “Your money’s no good here.”

“But—”

“No, I said it’s on the house and I mean it.”

“That was just for the drink.”

“I changed my mind.”

You made a face at him and then slipped the card into the sleeve of your phone case. He smirked back. His dark eyes twinkled. You felt your cheeks heat.

“Well, let me buy you a song, then.”

“A song?”

You pointed down the bar. “Yeah, jukebox.”

He seemed to flounder for second before nodding. “Okay, a song.” He hummed in thought. “R-3.”

“R-3, coming up!”

You hopped off the stool, went to the jukebox, and fished out a couple of quarters from your pocket. You picked the song, but you weren’t familiar with it. The current tune played out as you sipped at your pop and covertly watched Clyde.

In the meantime, a few people came into the bar. They weren’t rowdy by any means, but it was added noise. You took your drink and moved down the bar to hear the jukebox better. You were curious which song Clyde had picked.

From the new vantage point, you could still see him but also hear the jukebox better. It went quiet for a moment before his pick started. It was definitely a ‘70s tune with synth piano. It had an easy funk beat. You actually liked it. When the chorus started, you felt a huge smile take over your face.

The singer crooned, “I am so into you; I can’t think of nothin’ else.”

You didn’t want to assume it was a message. That would be silly. It was probably just a random selection. However, it was a love song. It was about infatuation and fascination. The more you listened to it, the more exposed you felt.

Because, Lord above, you  _were_  so into him. You had been into him in high school, even when he’d been all skinny limbs and big ears. You had the horrible realization you had a genuine  _crush_  on Clyde Logan. You hadn’t noticed him then because you two shared classes in high school. You had noticed him—and by extension, his family—because he was your first crush.

And you hadn’t even realized it until this very minute.

You rested your cheek in your hand as you blindly stared at ESPN. You nursed your pop and questioned where your self-awareness had gone. Or if you’d ever had any to begin with. The song was winding down, you distantly noted. You told yourself to look up the lyrics when you got home.

The last bridge of the song went: “And now I stand here helplessly, yeah; hoping you’ll get into me.”

Oh, you were so fucked.

You heard your name being called from across the bar. You turned in your seat to see your coworkers gathering their things and finishing their drinks. You had no idea what time it was, but if they were ready to leave, you had no choice. You were designated driver, after all.

Now sober, Tanya finally thanked you for the food and offered to pay. You refused and told her it was on the house. She gave you a knowing smile and looked over at Clyde behind the bar.

“I see,” she archly said.

You grabbed the dirty plate from her hand. “It’s not like that.” At least, it probably wasn’t on Clyde’s end. He was just being nice. He was friendly to everyone. He was a  _bartender_. You weren’t special. And you didn’t want to ask yourself why that kind of hurt.

You brought the dirty plate to the bar. Clyde was right there to meet you.

“Thank you. For the Coke. And the potato skins.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “Y'all come here every Thursday?”

“Yup, unless the weather’s bad.”

“Then I reckon we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Your heart fluttered. “Oh?”

“Scheduling changes. I’m taking Thursday nights now.”

“Then I guess we will.” You tried to keep your enthusiasm at bay. You smiled anyway. You couldn’t help it.

Your name was sing-songed from the main door. Your inebriated coworkers were fumbling out of the bar and into the night. You looked up at Clyde and gave him a little shrug.  _What can you do?_ You heard one of them howl at the almost-full moon from the porch outside.

You snorted. “Guess I gotta go.”

He grinned, but it didn’t appear all that happy to you. “Guess ya do.”

You stepped back from him and around the stool next to you. You almost tripped on one of its legs, but you made it look like a bounce in your walk.  _Smooth._  “See ya next Thursday!”

He held up his flesh hand. “See ya.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have a Facebook. I haven’t had one in almost a decade. So, I have no idea how it works anymore. Just roll with me.

Once you’d gotten home Thursday night, you’d googled the lyrics from the song Clyde had requested. Turned out it was “So Into You” by Atlanta Rhythm Section. It felt like a message. You knew it wasn’t. But it felt like one.

You were being delusional. It was wishful thinking.

You listened to the damn song too many times, anyway. You caught yourself staring into space while it played, thinking of Clyde. You wondered if he ever thought of you. Did he ever drive into work hoping to see you?

If you were in a rom-com, this would be the part where you’d lip-sync the song to an indifferent-but-adorable pet.

You talked yourself out of going to Duck Tape on Saturday night. You’d told him you came on Thursdays. If you changed the routine, you’d look desperate. And you might  _be_  desperate, but you didn’t want him to  _know_  that. Also, he might not even be there for Saturday nights.

The rest of the week went by like molasses in January: slow as all fuck.

When plans had solidified for another Thursday at Duck Tape, you congratulated yourself for not adding too much to the discussion. You weren’t designated driver this time. All you had to do was be ready by eight.

At 7:55, you were on your porch waiting for Kayla to pick you up. Your stomach was a heavy gordian knot. You knew that wasn’t the right metaphor, but it seemed to fit all the same. You knew what you had to do. You had to be brave. You were going to face that big handsome problem and cut it in half.

 _No, wait._  You were going to cut the knot in half. Not Clyde. The knot wasn’t your stomach, though. You were not going to commit seppuku.  _No._  You were going to face that dragon—

 _Hold up._  Clyde Logan was not a dragon.

 _Fuck._  No more mixing metaphors.

You were going to be fearless.  _Yes._  You were going to flirt with Clyde Logan. He was going to flirt back. It was going to be awesome.

Kayla pulling up in her girlfriend’s extended-cab Silverado shook you from your thoughts. You rushed across your minuscule front yard and got into the empty front seat. You were her first stop. The truck was peaceful—for now. The radio was on and tuned to a country station.

“You look cute,” Kayla said as she used your driveway to turn around.

You thanked her with a smile. You’d been getting ready since you’d finished dinner at six. You had your hair up. You’d redone your makeup. You changed into a body-hugging, boat-necked floral knit shirt and a black stretchy midi pencil skirt. You decided to opt for your white Converses instead of anything high-heeled. You had on a petite cross-body bag with a chain-strap, too. It was just big enough for your phone, a little coin purse, keys, a tampon, and your lip gloss. It was all casual, but not too casual.

By the time Kayla pulled up to Duck Tape, the truck’s cab was full of laughter and conversation. You had Tanya on your lap and someone’s knee wedged into your kidney. You hardly cared, though. You’d put up with a lot more to talk to Clyde again.

As usual, Duck Tape wasn’t super busy on Thursday evening. You and the group streamed in and headed for the billiard section. The middle table was free, and your group claimed it, settling their things in one of the booths at the back of the section.

You glanced at the bar to see Clyde there. He was wearing much the same thing he’d worn last Thursday. But instead of waiting for you, he was talking to a striking woman. Actually, she was  _beautiful_. She had long, honey-brown hair and lovely, sparkling eyes. She tall and lean. She was smiling at Clyde and practically glowing. He was giving her a soft look you knew meant one thing:

Love.

Clyde Logan was in love. And it wasn’t with you.

Your heart sank all way into your Converses. You detoured to the ladies bathroom to hide in one of the stalls. The song he’d requested last Thursday wasn’t about you. It was about  _her_. He hadn’t been flirting with you. He wasn’t going to start, either.

Your breath stuttered out of your lungs. You felt your eyes start to tear.

You were thirty years old and had nothing to show for it. No one loved you. No one even wanted to date you, let alone commit to you. You were overlooked.

On top of that, you were stuck in Bumfuck, West Virginia. Your job would most certainly end when the tax incentives the county had given Alorica expired, and they pulled up stakes. You couldn’t even afford to redecorate your house because of your stupid fucking student loans.

How dumb to pin any hopes of love on a song and a free order of potato skins. Neither one had even been for you.

Before your makeup could be ruined, you tilted your face to the ceiling and fanned at your eyes. You would not look like shit for the rest of the night. No, you would dazzle and charm. You tore a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll and blotted under your eyes.

You would not steal Clyde from another woman. That was low. Instead, you would prove to yourself you could be an adult. If prompted, you would talk with either of them. If not, you’d ignore them. It was no skin off your nose either way. You were here to have a good time with your coworkers.

You chucked the toilet paper into the commode and flushed it. You then checked yourself in the mirror to find nothing amiss. You rinsed off your hands, smoothed your hair, and walked out to join your coworkers at the bar.

You ordered your usual when Clyde came to you. He greeted you, beaming in that subdued way of his. You peeked around him to see the woman he’d been talking to watching you. You guessed she was his girlfriend. While you didn’t want to cause any trouble, you still smiled back at him and leaned against the bar. This was part of your dazzle-and-charm plan. Your behavior couldn’t be different. You had to act natural.

As Clyde filled the multiple orders, one of your coworkers, Jose, suggested you all take a group selfie. You volunteered to take the picture and fished out your phone. You got in front, angled your phone just right, and took the shot. Kayla asked for a goofy one for Facebook. You hammed it up along with everyone else for a few shots. You noticed Clyde’s girlfriend in the background and you angled your phone to catch her perfectly.

You wondered if you uploaded the pictures to Facebook, if you could tag her in them. That is, if she had a Facebook. Didn’t everyone have a Facebook these days? Did Clyde have one?

 _Nah_ , he didn’t seem the type.

You ended up as the last one at the bar since you were the last one to order. You went through your photo roll as you waited, deleting the blurry or bad selfies while you waited. You observed Clyde’s girlfriend from your peripheral vision. You tried to hide how hyper-aware you were of her and Clyde. When Clyde was finished, he topped your drink with three cherries lanced on a cocktail skewer.

He slid the drink to you. His voice was soft as he asked: “Would you like to open a tab?”

No one else had done that, or been offered that. Duck Tape was a pay-as-you-go type of establishment. But it would be nice to only have one charge on your debit card than however many drinks it was going to take to get you through the evening.

“Is that okay?” you asked.

“It is for you.” He offered a shy grin. “I trust you.”

Something unfurled deep in your chest. Maybe there wasn’t a chance with him, but his offer made you feel special.

You nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Think nothin’ of it.”

You took a sip of your cocktail and hummed in delight, thanking him again. It was perfect. You complimented the drink and watched as the shy grin on Clyde’s face transform to proud and pleased. It was a good look on him. You were glad to have put it there.

You snuck a glance at his girlfriend before joining your coworkers. She appeared unaffected by Clyde talking to you. She was watching a closed-caption disaster movie on the television and nursing a beer.

You were waiting on your third cocktail when Clyde’s girlfriend introduced herself. Her posture was impeccable as she rounded the corner of the bar. Her clothes were crisp and far nicer than anything you could buy in town. You pegged her for a newcomer.

She offered her hand. “I’m Emmie.” Her speech lacked the drawl you were used to hearing.

You shook it and introduced yourself. Clyde approached then, your cocktail in hand—with another three cherries. You looked at him to see a new tension in his shoulders. Something seemed strained about him.

“Has Clyde been treating you right?” Emmie asked.

It took a beat to understand her meaning. She was asking if he was giving you good service as a bartender. “Oh yeah!” You waved a casual hand, feeling all warm and happy to talk about him. “He’s wonderful!”

Clyde  _was_  wonderful. And sweet. And generous. And handsome. You wanted to kiss his adorable face and wrap yourself around him. You wanted to have beard-burn from his goatee all over your body, too. You bet he would feel so good against you.

He mildly protested, “Well, I don’t know about wonderful.”

You and Emmie turned to him, speaking over each other with different assurances. Clyde looked between the two of you and held up his hands in surrender. You laughed and took a seat at the bar. Emmie sat beside you.

As the evening continued, you found out Emmie was from Alexandria, Virginia. She was doing some long-term consultant work for the refinery just outside of Uneeda. She said she’d stopped at Duck Tape one evening on her way to her motel. She’d liked it so much, she became a regular.

Which was funny. Because you’d never seen her before tonight. You kept that to yourself, though.

She asked about you, but there wasn’t much to tell. Clyde was suspiciously quiet and made a point to linger near you and Emmie as he fixed drinks. You shared you were originally from the area and had family here, then what had gone on in Pittsburgh, and where you’d gone to college. Emmie seemed surprised you had higher education and yet still lived here. You tried not to be offended at her comment.

Before you could say anything, Clyde interjected, “Nothin’ wrong with Boone County.” He nodded at you. “Family is important.”

“That’s true,” you said. “I took care of Granny before she passed.”

“I heard about that. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Emmie added, “My condolences.”

Clyde grabbed two shot glasses and filled them with good vodka. He gave one to Emmie and held up the other one. “To your granny,” he toasted.

You picked up your cocktail and tapped it against his glass and then Emmie’s. Granny would’ve liked Clyde. You took a sip and smiled at them both. Emmie wasn’t a bad person, but she just wasn’t from around here. She didn’t get how close most folk were to their kin. And that was okay. She didn’t mean any harm.

Clyde told you about his granmama, Sylvia. She’d had a short temper. Especially if you got smart with her. He said he and Jimmy had learned to keep away from her stirring arm. He added that one time the only thing that kept him from getting a whoopin’ was being able to run faster than his brother.

“What did you do?” you asked.

“We let in her porch dog. Granmama had just gotten a new big TV, and me and Jimmy were watching wrestlin’.” He glanced at you. “We were horsin’ around and the dog barked for us. We felt bad he was outside—it was a rainy Saturday afternoon. So, we got him in the house to enjoy Stone Cold Steve Austin.”

“Oh no,” you cried.

Clyde smiled and rolled his eyes at his younger self. “Yeah. His paws were muddy. Almost ruined her living-room rug.”

“What did your grandmother do?” Emmie asked.

“Chased us, of course. The dog ran with us. Left prints all over the house. Me gettin’ the dog outside earned me only one swat. Jimmy got three, because he shoulda known better, and then another for blaspheming and cursing.”

You leaned forward. “What did he say?!”

He cleared his throat and did his best Jimmy Logan impression. “‘But goddammit, woman, I love that dog!  _Shit!’”_  It was a good impression. His cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head. “Pardon.”

You shook your head as you giggled. You had the overwhelming urge to kiss him. It must’ve shown on your face because he fondly smiled and bit his bottom lip. It came back pinker and glossy. You bet his lips tasted of vodka.

You hid your hot face by sipping your cocktail. Emmie was smiling, and she said something nice to Clyde. But you didn’t pay their brief conversation much mind.

You excused yourself, telling Emmie it was good to meet her. You rejoined your coworkers and played the winner of the current pool game. You weren’t any good, but neither was anyone else. It was all in good fun, anyway, and no one was keeping score.

When it was time to go, you paid your tab. It was suspiciously low, but it would be rude to point that out. When Clyde came back with your debit card and receipt, you thanked him for a good time.

“It was a better time on my side of the bar, I promise,” he said.

You snuck a look around to see Emmie was missing. Fuck it, you thought. You got closer and put your hand over his. It was more of a paw than a hand—warm and smooth-skinned. Even his horseshoe ring was warm.

“I have missed you, Clyde Logan.”

The corners of his golden-brown eyes crinkled, and he nodded. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“I work Saturdays—if you wanted to drop by.”

You smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You skimmed your fingers over the back of his hand and took your card and receipt. “G’night.”

“Good night…”

You tucked your things into your purse and followed the group out. Before stepping outside, you looked over your shoulder to meet Clyde’s gaze one last time. You suddenly wanted to rush to him and kiss him, but Tanya called your name while holding the door for you. You walked into the humid night with a heavy sigh.

On the way home, you thought about Clyde’s earlier tension and Emmie’s… Well,  _everything_. Now that you had some distance from Duck Tape, something about how they acted around each other didn’t sit right with you.

If they were so in love, how come they didn’t touch? Clyde didn’t act like a doting boyfriend to Emmie. Maybe they weren’t really together. Maybe they liked each other, but hadn’t done anything about it. Maybe you still had a chance.

Once you were home, you uploaded the group selfies to the Duck Tape album on your Facebook page. You tagged your coworkers easily enough. You found the selfie with Emmie in the background and hovered over her face. A name popped up: Emmaline Schubert. You didn’t add her tag to the photo. Instead, you searched for her.

Her page was practically blank. There was one photo: a selfie where she was outside in the afternoon sun. There were no albums and no friends. There was very little information. Maybe it was more of a professional page, but there should be something substantial populating it.

Still, it was weird.

You went to your laptop on the coffee table and found her again through the browser. You saved her profile picture to the desktop and did a reverse image search. There had to be more than a meager Facebook page for her.

The results shocked you. Either Emmie had a twin or Emmie wasn’t Emmie. One of the Google listings was for a FBI profile picture for a Sarah Grayson. You examined the picture, concluding it was definitely Emmie. You clicked on the page the picture was from to find it deleted. The cached version of the page wasn’t any better.

You googled 'agent sarah grayson’ to see one of the results was an article from  _The Charlotte Observer_. The article was from last June about the Charlotte Motor Speedway robbery. At the end of the article, it requested that any information about the robbery be directed to Agents Grayson and Noonan.

You leaned back in the couch and stared at the screen. You didn’t think it coincidence “Emmie Schubert” just so happened to be in the area. The speculation that the redneck robbers were from around here only fueled your suspicions.

You concluded Agent Sarah Grayson was using Clyde. She was lying to him.  _The snake._  Maybe she was using him and Duck Tape as a front to investigate the locals. No wonder she introduced herself to you.

Clyde must’ve known something was fishy about her and her story despite his infatuation with her. It would explain why he lingered nearby when she was talking to you. You hoped he hadn’t developed deep feelings for Emmie—  _Agent Grayson._  Because once her investigation was over, she would leave and never return. You were sure of that. Even if she developed feelings for Clyde, she wouldn’t stay. And probably  _couldn’t_  stay even if she did, because of her job with the FBI.

That left you with one option: You would have to break the bad news to Clyde.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday inched by in a muddle of too much caffeine and too little sleep. You felt keyed up, yet your brain was full of sludge. You were still offended for Clyde. You were also exhausted from lying in bed and staring at the ceiling most of the night. You didn’t know what to do or how to help.

It should’ve been a relief to clock out at five, but you even didn’t remember doing it.

You sat in your living room with eyes glazed. You wondered if the police knew Agent Grayson was in town. Not that she was doing anything illegal. She was just sitting in a bar and talking to people.

And making a good man fall in love with her.

You had to tell him. It wasn’t right.

You didn’t know what to tell him, how to word it. Everything was going to come out wrong. You would offend him. Then he would defend Emmie’s honor. He’d say you were wrong, that you were jumping to conclusions. He’d admonish you and tell you never to come back to Duck Tape.

That would break your heart.

But better yours than his.

You pulled your laptop to you and saved or screenshot-ed everything. You composed an email to yourself with everything in it. You’d show it all to Clyde tomorrow. Clear evidence was the only way to back up your theory.

On Saturday after supper, you changed into dark overalls and a West-Virginia baby-doll t-shirt. You would’ve liked something prettier, but laundry day was tomorrow and nothing was clean. You weren’t going to the bar to impress, anyway. You just wanted to talk with Clyde.

Unsurprisingly, Duck Tape was busy. The lot was almost full, and you had to park in the gravel section at the back. There were people smoking and laughing on the porch. You didn’t know any of them. By the door, you saw Earl. He recognized you and gave you a friendly nod. You returned his nod and went inside.

There were people everywhere—at the pool tables, the dart boards, around the jukebox, in every booth and at every table. Every seat at the bar was taken, too. In the middle of it all was Clyde. He seemed at ease, talking with customers as he made their drinks. There was a waitress with him, too, refilling red tumblers with pop for folks at the booths.

You wedged yourself between two groups of people to get to the bar. The waitress saw you first and came over, asking what she could get you. You told her you were here for Clyde. She frowned at that and looked over her shoulder at him.

“He’s kinda busy right now,” she said over the din of multiple conversations.

“I know. I’ll wait.” You realized you couldn’t take up space at the bar without ordering anything. “I’ll take a Guinness.”

“Alright. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

You exchanged a five-dollar bill for the beer. You told her to keep the change. You sipped at your drink, watching the television in the corner, while “Amie” by Pure Prairie League started playing on the jukebox. At a commercial break, you pulled your phone from the front pocket of your overalls. You launched the email app and opened the email about Emmie. Agent Grayson.  _Whichever._

Movement caught your eye, and you looked up from your phone to see Clyde approaching. He looked pleased to see you, the corners of his mouth curling up. You smiled back, phone almost forgotten in your hand.

He put his flesh hand on the bar in front of you. “Hey there.”

“Hi.”

“I heard you was lookin’ for me.”

You nodded and tucked your phone away. “I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” He studied you for a second. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise.” You stared into his dark eyes before leaning forward. “It’s about Emmie.”

His face shuttered at the mention of her. His shoulders tensed. “What about her.”

“Please, Clyde, just hear me out.”

“It’s not a good idea to talk here.”

“Then come outside with me.  _Please.”_

He turned to the side and looked around the bar. He was going to refuse—excuse himself with tending to his customers. You’d already screwed up and made it awkward. He was going to walk away.

He turned back to you. “Just give me a minute.”

You dumbly nodded, surprised he’d give you the opportunity to explain yourself. By the time he came back, you’d finished over half your beer. It didn’t really calm your nerves, but it had given you something to do.

“I’ll meet you outside,” he said and disappeared behind the kitchen’s double-swing door.

You pushed away from the bar and hurried outside, beer completely forgotten. As you stepped down to the blacktop out front, you heard the heavy clank of a side door closing. Clyde was waiting for you, and you rushed to him.

“This is gonna sound crazy,” you began. “But you have to listen to the whole thing.”

He didn’t say anything. He only bobbed his head once. You took that as encouragement.

“Okay, it all started when I was tagging people in a group selfie on Facebook. Emmie was in it, and I saw her full name. I went to her page there, but it was almost blank. Which is weird, right?”

He nodded in reply.

“I was curious, okay. I just wanted to know more about her.” _Because you love her._ “I did a reverse image search on Google, right? And the things that came back were not Emmie—”

A souped-up truck peeled out of the parking lot. You both turned to watch it careen onto the main road. At the same time, a car in the turn lane inched forward, almost hitting the truck. The car honked. Instead of a typical horn, the car played “Dixie” like the General Lee in  _Dukes of Hazzard_.

Someone on the porch yelled, “Hell yeah!”

There was a round of cheering as the car pulled into the lot.

Clyde put his hand on your elbow and urged you to come with him. He unknowingly led you closer to your car. It was darker by the pines surrounding the bar. Quieter.

“So, the results,” he prompted you.

You leaned in close. “I don’t think Emmie’s her real name. I got results for an FBI agent—Sarah Grayson.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” You brought out your phone and unlocked it to show him the compiled email. “See for yourself.” You handed over the phone.

He held the phone with his prosthetic and scrolled with his right hand. After a moment, he said: “Why’re you tellin’ me?”

“I…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“I won’t be.”

“Don't— Aren’t you two…?” You straightened and shook your head. “Don’t you love her?”

He handed the phone back. “No.”

“I thought you two were together,” you mumbled as you put it away.

“She thinks that.”

What a weird thing to say. You cocked your head, looking at his unfazed face. “You don’t seem surprised by all this.”

“I’m not.”

“What the hell’s goin’ on, Clyde?”

“Don’t worry about this.”

“The hell I won’t. She’s usin’ you.”

“In a way, but she’ll give up soon.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She’s been at it for months,” he divulged. “She’ll get tired soon.”

You privately disagreed. “I saw she was investigating the Speedway robbery from last summer. Is that what this is about?”

He murmured your name as he shook his head. “Honey, don’t worry about this.”

“No, it’s not right. She’s lying to you—to everyone.”

“It don’t matter. She knows what we need her to know.”

“‘We’?”

He looked like he wanted to kick himself. His lips got thin, and he scowled at himself. “Mellie and Jimmy know about her, too.”

Which probably meant Agent Grayson was investigating the rest of the Logans as well.

“Please tell me what’s going on.” You stepped to him and took his hands, regardless of the left’s unfeeling, cool alloy. “Please.”

He sighed and curled his fingers around yours. Even his prosthetic moved in your grasp. “She’s spyin’ on me, alright? She bugged the trailer.”

“What?”

“I moved back in to Jimmy’s old trailer. I had to get outta Mellie’s hair.”

You frowned. “I don't—”

“I invited her over one time, and she accidentally broke this clock on my bookshelf.” His flesh hand gave yours a gentle squeeze. “She came back with a replacement and insisted I take it.”

“And it’s bugged.”

“It’s a spy cam. I think there’s more. She might’ve broken in when I wasn’t home.”

“Jesus Christ, Clyde, why would she do that?”

“She thinks I committed a crime and wants to reopen the case.”

You instantly thought of the Speedway robbery. “Did you do it?” And what was there to investigate? Hadn’t the robbers given the money back?

“Well…” He shrugged. “The case was dropped.”

That didn’t mean he didn’t do whatever Grayson thought he had. It just meant there wasn’t evidence enough to convict. You remembered him and Jimmy getting into trouble when they were younger. You thought you’d heard Clyde had gone to one of those detention centers. He’d missed the beginning of a school year in seventh or eighth grade.

But it didn’t matter.

“I wanna help you anyway,” you said.

“You can’t do nothin’. It’ll sort itself out soon enough.”

“What if it doesn’t, huh?”

“Then I guess I’ll be going back to prison if she can pin something on me.”

You lurched forward. “Over my dead body!”

Clyde smiled at you, his eyes twinkling in the dappled light of the back lot. “Oh, sweetheart…” Usually you’d bristle when men called you that, but it felt different coming from him. “I don’t want to see you implicated in anything.”

“What if I found a way that wouldn’t?”

“I don’t think…” He shook his head.

“No, really. What if there’s a way? She’s just met me. She doesn’t know what I’ll do.”

He hoarsely whispered, “Please, don’t.”

You didn’t know what he was asking you not to do. Don’t plan? Don’t care? Don’t give him hope?

Screw that.

You raised yourself on tip-toe and hugged him, wrapping your arms behind his neck and pressing yourself against him. He was stiff for a second before melting against you. His arms went around you to hold you tight. He felt as good as you thought he would.

His thick hair smelled of expensive shampoo. You played with the ends of it and tucked your face against his neck. You breathed in the scent of his detergent and skin. There was the faintest hint of peach schnapps. You wanted to kiss him so badly. Kiss your way up his neck and jaw until you reached his lush mouth.

You pulled back, and he moved counter to you, until you could look deep into his eyes. He caressed your cheek, his thumb soothing over your cheekbone. You wet your lips and moved in to kiss him when you heard his name being called from across the parking lot.

He broke away from you and turned towards the bar. He yelled back he was on his way. He then huffed to himself. “I gotta get back.”

“I know.”

He faced you. “I don’t want you involved.”

“You just try to stop me.”

“I mean it.”

“Just think about it.” You shuffled back a few steps. “I’ll have something in a couple days.”

_“No.”_

_“Yes._  Talk it over with Mellie and Jimmy, okay?”

He sighed. “I’m off Tuesday and Wednesday.”

“Then I’ll be back before then.”

He sighed your name. You wouldn’t be deterred, though. You felt ideas start to bubble up like your mind was a pot of simmering water. One thing was certain, though: You had to get rid of that spy cam.

You went home. And thought. You opened a Word document and typed out your ideas as they came to you. It was rapid-fire. You didn’t bother to edit the growing list. The ideas had to come out.

After a few minutes, you relaxed and began deleting the schemes you knew would never work. Or the ones you knew Clyde would never go for. You couldn’t confront Agent Grayson directly. That would tip the Logans’ hand. It would make them look guilty of something. It might make her go back to the FBI with renewed conviction.

She could come after you, too, as an accomplice to a crime you’d had no part in.

If you took the spy-cam clock to the police, they’d wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. There was no evidence of malicious intent. It had been there for months, apparently. Grayson could deny knowing it was a spy cam. Or even say that hadn’t been the clock she’d gifted Clyde. She could say Clyde was setting her up.

So, sneaky it was. It was the only way to get her out, yet not challenge her directly.

As you pecked at the keyboard, you came to a singular resolution. And you knew Clyde was not going to be happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “Dixie” horn incident actually happened to me. I used to live in the region _Logan Lucky_ takes place. I lived on the southern Kentucky side of the Appalachian mountains. (I could’ve driven up 119 to Boone County in about two hours.) Anyway, across the highway from my house was a full-service gas station. I had been doing my homework in the afternoon when I heard the 'ding-ding’ of a car pulling into the station. That was nothing new. However, the new thing, the next thing I heard was the “Dixie” car horn and the gas-station attendant yelling, “HELL YEAH!”
> 
> It was one of the most hillbilly things I’ve experienced. Another involves an EBT card and Beanee Weenee. But that is a story for another time.


	4. Chapter 4

You walked up the steps of the trailer’s covered porch. It was utterly quiet. The yellow light beside the front door was on, and a moth was dancing across the fixture. You glanced back at your car parked next to Clyde’s land-yacht of an old Grand Prix. The woods surrounding the cleared bit of land was pitch black and full of chirping crickets.

It wasn’t too late to turn back.

 _No._  You’d offered a solution and convinced Clyde to go along with it. You wouldn’t leave him hanging.

On Sunday afternoon between loads of laundry, you’d run down to Duck Tape. The place had been clear of customers. Clyde had been lounging in a chair behind the bar, his ankles crossed in front of him.  _The Golden Girls_  had been playing on the unmuted television.

When he’d seen you, he grabbed the remote and turned it off. He’d hurried to stand and offer you a drink. You’d asked for a root beer and bourbon, taking a seat across from him. After fixing you the drink, he directed you to the porch and came out with you. There was a lone table with a set of rickety chairs, and you two sat facing the parking lot as you talked.

At first, he’d been adamantly against your plan. Though you’d gotten out of him that Jimmy and Mellie were interested in your idea to rid themselves of Sarah Grayson. Clyde hadn’t been so sure it would lead to Grayson springing your trap.

Clyde told you Mellie had uncovered that the local police did know Sarah Grayson was in the area. She’d also uncovered Grayson was on unpaid leave. Her partner, Noonan, had been reassigned in her absence. Grayson was alone in her investigation.

All evidence pointed to Agent Sarah Grayson going rogue.

That was actually helpful. It painted a portrait of an obsessed FBI agent.

Even though Clyde saw your point, he still didn’t want to do it. It had taken a while to get him to agree. The load you’d put in the dryer had long gone cool by the time you were finished at Duck Tape. In the end, he had come around with multiple assurances you were ready, willing, and quite able.

With a deep breath, you now knocked on his front door. You heard him trudge through the living room. You tucked your hair behind your ears and tried not to look nervous.

Clyde opened the door and stepped back to let you in. You knew you gave him a brittle grin as you greeted him and took a few steps into the living room. The television was off, and the only light was coming from a table lamp in the corner. You shrugged off your purse and deposited it on the coffee table in front of the old, plaid couch.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” you joked as you turned to him.

Actually, you’d seen him just hours ago at Duck Tape. It had been a typical Thursday outing. Emmie had left twenty minutes after you’d arrived with your coworkers. She’d greeted you and quickly excused herself by saying she had an early morning coming. You doubted she ever missed her beauty sleep. She was pretty enough to give you a complex. After seeing her in her sleek clothes, you’d felt rather dumpy in rose-print leggings and long knit shirt with three-quarter sleeves.

However, the way Clyde had paid attention to you made you feel like a queen. Tanya had leered at you on the way home. She commented how nice it must be to have a handsome bartender wrapped around your finger. You’d felt your face heat. You denied any influence over any bartender anywhere.

Clyde grinned back, and it looked a little strained. “Can I get you something?”

“Are you having anything?”

“I’m…” He ducked his head. “I’m having a little grape juice. My pawpaw swore by having a jelly glass worth after dinner.”

You shrugged. “I like grape juice.”

He went into the kitchen. You heard him rustling around and the clink of glassware. You wandered over to the tall bookshelf in the corner opposite the front door. You saw the modern analog clock on the eye-level shelf. The spy cam. You tried not to stare at it. Instead, you examined the spines of the books all around it. There were classics with old fabric covers and modern paperbacks. They appeared to be organized by genre and author. Mostly there were adventure, sci-fi, fantasy, and poetry. The lowest shelf was filled with art books. You saw Mucha, Basquiat, and Hiroshige.

It felt like an insult to be surprised. But you were.

You ran a knuckle over the spine of Treasure Island. Clyde was an unforeseen treasure, that was for sure. You wondered if he was satisfied working at Duck Tape and coming home to an empty, drafty trailer.

“That’s my current favorite,” he said from behind you.

You jumped a little and turned to face him. He offered you a little tumbler of dark grape juice.

You took a sip. It was delicious. “I read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hydeduring college.”

“I haven’t gotten to that one yet.”

“It’s good. The movie  _Mary Reilly_  is based on it and it’s pretty good. The guy who plays Jekyll an’ Hyde is real good.”

How many times had you said “good” in the last thirty seconds? You wanted bonk yourself in the forehead and head out into the woods. Where you wouldn’t have to communicate with anyone. Because, evidently, you couldn’t handle that.

“We can watch it sometime.” He raised a shoulder. “If ya like.”

“You wanna watch it? With me?”

“I’d like to watch all kinds of things with you.”

You gave him a sly grin. “What other kind of things would you like to do with me?” You took another drink.

He finished his juice in one gulp and placed the glass on the bookshelf. “I’d like to kiss you.”

You set your half-full glass next to his. “Anything else?” you asked, breathless.

“I’d like to touch you.”

Clyde inched closer. This wasn’t exactly part of the plan. You’d offered to fake it with him, but this was all too real. Of course, you had no problem with actually kissing him. You’d thought about it a million times since he took the Thursday shift at Duck Tape.

His warm-brown eyes were hypnotic. You could hardly look away to catch a glimpse of his mouth.

“May I?” he softly asked.

You nodded. “Kiss me.”

He tilted your head as he leaned in and grazed his lips against yours. You closed your eyes and wanted to weep in relief. You’d given up hope when you’d seen Emmie with him. Your latent, incurable crush had been choking you, draining all the color from the world. It felt like everything was now back in technicolor.

You threw yourself into the kiss, loving it when his nose pressed against your cheek. It really was Clyde with you. No one else felt like him. He matched you, moved with you, his lips tasting like grapes. His huge hand cradled your cheek while his goatee tickled just a little. His prosthetic forearm was wrapped behind your back to pull you in tight.

There was something you had to do, but it could wait. You sucked at his bottom lip, urging him to open his mouth. When he did, you flicked your tongue against his. He deepened the kiss without your urging, and his tongue traced over yours.

You whimpered at how good it felt. You fisted his hair, clung to his broad shoulders, gripped his button-up. You wished you had more arms to hold him.

His hand trailed down your jaw to your neck. It had you arching, silently urging him to continue. He could touch you anywhere he wanted. His hot palm cupped your breast suddenly. You gasped into the kiss, your heart pounding in your chest, and you stared into his dark eyes.

He pulled his hand away and whispered, “I’m sor—”

“Don’t stop.”

Your elbow knocked into the bookshelf to give him space. Next to you, the clock wobbled. Oh shit, the clock. You had to do something with the clock. You looked to him with a feline smirk and pushed it off the shelf. It hit the carpet next to your feet with a muted thump.

Clyde stared into your eyes for a second before steadying himself with a hand at your ribs and stomping on the clock with his big work boots. You looked down to see it in pieces, the back of the tiny camera obvious amongst the wreckage.

Just as planned.

You smiled at him. “There.”

His eyes hadn’t lost their heat, though. His breath ghosted over your wet lips. You smoothed back his hair from his temples, then held his gorgeous, blushing face. He angled in as if to kiss you, but hesitated. Like he doubted your desire for him.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed.

He was against you once more, his lips pressed to yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. His hand was back at your breast to massage and tease. It felt like he was made for you. A shiver of pleasure chased up your spine. You felt your nipples harden against the silky lining of your bra.

He pinched one between his thumb and the side of his pointer finger. You made a surprised noise at the unexpected sharp pleasure. He broke the kiss to gently mouth at your neck. His hand dragged down your side until both hands were clutching your hips. The prosthetic hand was stiff and skeletal, but it was still Clyde. And it certainly didn’t make you want him any less.

He murmured in your ear: “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”

You grinned and leaned your cheek on his hair. “Well, sir, you’ve done more than that already.”

“Oh, honey, I haven’t even started.”

“That so?”

He straightened and nodded, biting his lip. He swooped in to kiss you again. His lips were a little puffy and soft and felt so right. He pulled you to him. Your breasts pressed against his chest. You wished to feel his bare skin against yours. You wanted him, wanted all of him, wanted his cock. You wondered if it would be as big as the rest of him.

But you would need condoms for that. You didn’t have condoms. You hadn’t been planning on sex.

Clyde pulled back, searching your face. “What is it?”

And, oh fuck, spy cams—the bugs. There could be more in the trailer. While you weren’t ashamed of being with him, you certainly didn’t want to star in an amateur porn. You’d heard horror stories of surveillance cams in Airbnbs and revenge porn.

“We should probably stop.” You pointedly looked at the broken clock on the floor.

His eyes went big as he realized what you meant. “I’m so sorry. I got carried awa—”

You put a finger to his swollen lips and gently shushed him. You didn’t regret it in the slightest. You’d make out with him right in front of  _The Coal Valley News_  if he wanted.  _Goddamn._  He was beautiful in arousal with his flushed cheeks and glossy lips and smoldering eyes. You felt like you would crack in two if you kept looking at him.

You kissed him one more time, letting it be slow and easy. He sighed when you stopped, his eyes remaining closed.

You whispered, “You make me forget everything, Clyde.”

He bit his lip as his eyes fluttered open. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” You gave him a little peck. “Call me tomorrow. Or text me.”

He stood upright with a pleased look on his face. He let his hands linger at your waist. “Yes, ma'am.”

You hated to leave. You didn’t want to. But you had work tomorrow at nine, and it was already after two. You foresaw another terrible Friday, as dull and stale as the break-room coffee.

Clyde fetched your purse and walked you to your car. Outside, you could breathe easier. You doubted Grayson had planted any cams out here. You unlocked your car and opened the driver-side door. You looked at Clyde for a moment, and he looked at you.

“She’ll be back,” you stated.

“I know you’re right, but I wish…”

You got it. He was ambivalent about the whole situation. He didn’t want her to ever come back. Neither did you. On the other hand, Grayson needed to return and tangle herself in your snare.

“Just…” You shook your head. You needed to go. “Just stick to the plan.” Because if you didn’t go now, you never would.

He nodded and stepped back. You got in the car and started the engine. He stood there as you backed out onto the gravel road. When you put the car in Drive and began to inch forward, he raised his flesh hand in goodbye. You waved back, though you wanted to roll down your window and tell him you loved him.

It was too early for that. You were getting too attached. You didn’t know him all that well. There was no evidence of him feeling anything but lust for you, either. And maybe the lust was just a front.

Though, you did want to get to know him. You wanted to watch movies with him. You wanted to get your mouth all over him. You wanted him to have something better than an old trailer on a dirt road. Not that your situation was any better. But at least you didn’t have an obsessed FBI agent after you.

However, you were helping him with that. The ball would get rolling tomorrow.  _Hopefully._  If Sarah Grayson was as determined as you suspected she was, she would take the bait.


	5. Chapter 5

Another Friday, another cup of bad coffee. The terrible florescent lights buzzed above your cubicle. Your back ached from the crappy office chairs Alorica provided. The din of your coworkers’ voices annoyed you. On top of that, you were hungry even though you’d eaten lunch only three hours earlier.

Luckily, incoming calls had slowed to a trickle. You were barely coherent, anyway. And distracted by your silent cellphone.

Which was tucked in the pocket of your khakis.

You weren’t supposed to have it turned on or on your person because of company policy. But policy could kiss your ass today. You had bigger fish to fry, so to speak, than to record any customer calls.

After you scrubbed the last error on a page from your team’s assigned database, you relaxed back in your chair. You didn’t know when Clyde began his shift. You two hadn’t really had much opportunity to talk. The only thing you’d done before leaving Duck Tape on the previous Sunday was exchange phone numbers.

It was almost four, though. You almost groaned. You still had an hour to go.

Clyde must be working the late shift since it was Friday. If you weren’t so exhausted, going to Duck Tape to visit with him would sound great. Maybe he’d call you honey again—like he had last night. And you could make out with him on his break. You could meet him by his car and get in the backseat and put your hands all over him.

You wondered what he wanted to start with you. Last night, he’d said he hadn’t even started. Did he just want to have sex with you? You’d thought about it during your drive home. You weren’t against having a fling. You were an adult. You could handle a fuck-buddy situation. Couldn’t you?

You gnawed on your lip. Being in a sexual relationship without the commitment didn’t sound so appealing. Be that as it may, you suspected you wouldn’t be able to turn him down if that’s what he proposed.

Because his soft words and smoldering eyes haunted you. The way he touched you left you yearning for more. You imagined the taste of juice on his full lips and how his goatee had gently abraded your skin. When you’d gotten home last night, you pushed a hand into your underwear as you had traced your kiss-swollen lips. You wanted to wrap your legs around his waist as he pounded you into the nearest available surface.

And when you came, his name had been on your mind.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh, and you jolted from your seat. You changed your call-system status to away and rushed to the ladies bathroom. Once in a stall, you yanked out the phone to read the message. It was from Clyde.

_Going to work now. Shes not coming by tonight_

You wanted to ask whether he meant Agent Grayson wasn’t going to his place or to Duck Tape. He had to be cryptic, you knew, just in case his phone was examined for tampering. It had to seem like you two were sneaking behind Grayson’s back.

You began to reply, but the typing bubble for him popped up.

_Ill talk to you soon_

You deleted the only word you’d typed out and began again.  _Ok call me when you get some time._

You didn’t hear anything until almost nine. You’d tried to be vigilant all evening, but it was impossible. Every rumble from a coal truck over the highway shook you awake. You’d check your phone, but there was always nothing. You developed a crick in your neck from sleeping sitting up on the couch.

Now your phone buzzed for real. It didn’t compute for a second. There was a notice for a text message on your lockscreen from a number you didn’t know. You opened up the message to see it was Mellie Logan.

_It’s Mellie_ , the text began.  _Agent Grayson got caught trying to break in without a warrant. Clyde’s talking with police now. They have his phone. He’ll call you later from this number._

You replied,  _I’m glad the plan worked. If there’s anything yall need, I’m here._

She didn’t text back, but you didn’t expect her to. You relaxed into the couch and blindly stared at the bright television in the corner. Your plan had worked like a charm. You couldn't _believe_ it had worked, actually.

Clyde must've been convincing when he took the broken clock down to the police station this morning. He'd gotten them to stake out his trailer—like you had persuaded him to last Sunday. Because you knew Grayson couldn't stay away. And you were right: she hadn't.

Now Agent Grayson was in custody. Anyone who looked at the footage from the spy cam or read the texts in his phone would think you two were only carrying on behind "Emmie's" back. They wouldn't know you two had conspired to entrap her.

The police could now go through Clyde’s trailer to find any other cams or bugs. With that, Grayson would be indicted. Hopefully, they’d scan his car and Duck Tape, too. Grayson seemed scheming enough to plant them everywhere.

You couldn’t imagine living for months under surveillance. Clyde had been forced to censor and isolate himself. Mellie and Jimmy had done the same. You wondered how much they couldn’t say when they visited; how their lives had been put on-hold for months. All because some FBI agent got a wild hair up her ass.

Maybe Clyde—or the whole Logan family—could get a restraining order against her. That would solve the whole issue. There should be enough evidence to issue one now. If there wasn’t, you’d think of something else. You’d plant evidence if needed.

You wanted to hug Clyde so badly. He must be so relieved.  _You_  were relieved and you hadn’t had a FBI agent breathing down your neck.

Part of you wanted to hightail it down to the police station to support Clyde, but he hadn’t asked for you. At least, Mellie hadn’t said he had. You read her text again, then nodded to yourself. He’d call you.

And if he didn’t, you’d survive. It would hurt, of course, and you’d be pissed at being discarded, but you’d get through it.

You realized you were too keyed up to nap anymore. Watching television wasn’t enough of a distraction. You wandered to the kitchen. There was always something to take of in there. You rinsed and stacked the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. You neatened up the pantry from where you’d made a mess of it after the last grocery run. You wiped off as many horizontal surfaces as you could until the kitchen was sparkling.

Granny would approve.

You were puttering in the living room, straightening up and fluffing pillows, when your phone buzzed with a call. It was Mellie, but she’d said Clyde would be calling. You picked up quickly with a  _“hello”_  as you muted the television.

“It’s Clyde.”

“Hey, how’d it go?”

“She’s bein’ charged with unauthorized installation of a hidden camera, trespassing, and attempted breaking and entering. I can’t go home for a few days. I…” It went quiet for a few seconds, and you checked to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped. “May I stay with you?”

You frowned. You thought he’d want to be with family. But he was asking you. “Of course, you can.”

“They’re allowin’ me inside to pack a few things. So, I… I’ll be home soon.”

Your heart lurched. “I’ll be waitin’ for ya.”

You both said good-bye, and you ended the call. You pulled up Mellie’s contact and texted your address, because you didn’t think he knew it. She replied with  _“Thanks”_  and a smiley face. You saved her number with the nail polish emoji by her name.

You gingerly set the phone on the coffee table. Of all the people in Boone County he could stay with, he chose you. A giggle bubbled out of you. He wanted to be with you. He’d called your place home, though he’d never been inside.

And, oh shit, you thought.  _Your home._  Your  _messy_  home. You rushed to the bathroom to give it a wipe-down. You hadn’t cleaned it in a month. You panicked at the thought of sleeping arrangements. While you were very much okay with Clyde sleeping in your bed, it might make him uncomfortable or convey a message you weren’t ready to send. You supposed the second bedroom would do.

When you’d taken over Granny’s house, your parents had moved your old white daybed into the second bedroom. The daybed now served as a couch to read on and somewhere to spread out adult-type papers. Your first purchase as a homeowner had been a gray, damask-striped comforter set for it.

Currently, there were no sheets under said comforter, but you could remedy that quick enough. You dressed the daybed in the nicest sheets you had for the twin mattress. They were white cotton with little faded pink rosebuds. You’d had them since middle school, and they were silky soft now. You didn’t think Clyde would mind the print.

He knocked on your door ten minutes later. The porch light brought out the darkness under his eyes. You didn’t know what to say. Instead of trying, you pushed open the screen door and stepped back to let him in.

The night was muggy. The yellow porch lights from nearby houses seemed dimmed. However, it was still easy to discern the red vintage car idling on the street. That had to be Mellie.

Clyde ambled around you, and you waved at the car. The driver flashed their lights in reply and eased the car away from gravel ditch in front of your house.

You closed the door and turned to face him. He looked better in the soft light of your living room. Still, he looked tired. He had an olive-drab duffle bag in his right hand and a pink stain on his gray button-up.

You took the duffle bag from him and gingerly set it on the coffee table. You returned to him and put your hands on his chest.

“It’s done,” you murmured, trying to be reassuring.

He nodded and ducked his head. His dark hair flopped forward to obscure part of his forehead.

You pushed the thick lock of hair back. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Nowhere exciting on Friday night?”

He lifted his left arm. “I think I’ve seen enough excitement.”

You both smiled, and you agreed, “I suppose so.”

You studied him, unable to meet his soulful eyes for too long, and floundered. “Would— Are, uh, are you hungry?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I could eat.”

“I can make you a sandwich? Or I got a frozen pizza in the fridge?”

“Sandwich is fine, thank ya.”

You smiled at him and stepped back only to have your hand caught between Clyde’s big hand and his chest. You stopped and looked at him to see him pouty and puppy-eyed. Before you could ask what was wrong, he pressed up against you and hugged you tight. You wrapped your arms around him and tucked your face in his neck.

You could smell the bar on him. Bread-y beer, the cloying cocktail mixers, the sharp scent of vodka. You could kiss his neck right above the collar of his black undershirt—taste his sweat and aftershave. His skin was right there, you pointed out. Forget not conveying messages. You wanted to make it clear you were ready. For anything. Damn the consequences.

However, you were suddenly paralyzed with the feeling of Clyde placing a kiss right where your oversized t-shirt drooped on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered and pulled away. “I should clean up. The bar was busy.” He motioned down to his soiled shirt.

“Yeah, of course,” you softly said, though you wanted to latch onto him like a lamprey and never let go. Your hands glided down his arms, and you glanced at the stain. “I can wash your shirt. Or at least get a pre-treater on it.”

He nodded. “I can do the pre-treater.”

“Nonsense!” You picked up his duffle, trying to be normal and casual and cool, and probably failing horribly. “Let me show you the second bedroom.”

You walked him through the house, showing him the kitchen, lone bathroom, and second bedroom. You apologized for the size of the room as you turned on a lamp and placed his duffle on the bed. The second bedroom was small, and you used it more as an office and reading room because of that. Along with the daybed, you had full bookshelves, a filing cabinet, and a small desk you paid bills at.

“My room’s across the hall,” you said.

Clyde nodded and shuffled over to the back window to close the blinds. You realized he probably didn’t want to change with you gawking at him.

You shook yourself. “I’ll get you a towel for the shower. You like one or two?”

“One’s fine.”

You nodded and retrieved a fluffy bath towel from the tiny linen closet. By the time you returned with the towel, Clyde had stripped his button-up off. You tried not to stare long at the shape of him. He was solid and thick with broad shoulders and gently tapering torso. So much different than in high school when he’d been leaner and still boyish. His dark hair had a burnished quality in the warm light of the solitary lamp.

Goddamn, he was too gorgeous. It was like staring at the sun. However, he was stressed from the police and the months of being under surveillance. Despite wanting to throw yourself at him, you focused on taking care of him.

“Trade ya,” you joked and held out the towel.

You swapped the towel for his shirt and ducked out of the bedroom. At the kitchen sink, you inspected the shirt’s pockets and examined the stain. It wasn’t too big or dark, and you bet a bit of Dawn would take it right out. You heard the bathroom door close, and you glanced behind you to see you were alone.

Feeling like an obsessed weirdo, you brought the warm collar of his shirt up to your nose. You could smell his shampoo and soap. You wondered what he used because it smelled heavenly. Or maybe it was heavenly because it was Clyde.

The shower started up, and you lay the shirt on the counter to get out the dishwashing liquid from under the sink. You scrubbed the stain out under warm water and hung the shirt by the washer-dryer stack in the corner of the kitchen. It would still need a proper washing, but the pink blotch was gone.

You stared into the dim hallway and realized Clyde Logan was naked and wet in your bathroom. You could go in there. You could join him. You could blow him right there in the shower. That would be a definitive message. Nothing was stopping you, either. You wondered if he would let you.

As if in response, the shower cut off.

With a sigh, you got out the deli roast beef and a package of swiss cheese. You rummaged around until you found the horseradish spread and a huge heirloom tomato. As you assembled the sandwich on a plate, you heard the bathroom door pop open and him pad back to the bedroom.

Something nostalgic swept through you at the whole situation. You wondered if it would be like this on Friday nights: Clyde working late, you staying up to talk and share a snack with him.

As you were slicing his sandwich in half, you felt him enter the kitchen. You turned, steak knife in hand, and smiled. He was adorable with wavy, damp hair, a faded Charlie Daniels Band t-shirt, and an old pair of Mountaineers basketball shorts. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic, and you forced yourself to only give his partial arm a passing glance. Because it wasn’t a big deal, nor was it horrifying. It was just you’d never seen him without the prosthetic.

“Have a good shower?” you asked.

He nodded. “You have nice water here.”

“Well, ya know, city water.” You rested the knife at the edge of the sink and brought his sandwich to the table. “What would you like to drink? I’ve got orange juice, bottled water, tea, wine. Might be a can of Coke in there somewhere.”

“Tea’s good.”

That sounded good to you too, so you poured two glasses and joined him at the kitchen table. Before you sat, you asked if he wanted anything else. He adjusted in his seat and looked up at you.

“I’d like it if you sat on my lap.”

Your heart kicked into the double-time. “I-I can do that.”

You slid your glass near his and came around on his left side. He scooted back enough for you to fit between him and table. You sat on his left thigh and put an arm behind his shoulders. You felt his partial arm settle at the small of your back. From this close, you could smell his shampoo. You recognized your soap, though. You didn’t mind him smelling like you. It was rather nice on him.

“I hope you don’t find that too forward,” he muttered before picking up one half of his sandwich.

“You’ve pinched my nipple, and I’ve had my tongue in your mouth, Clyde Logan. Sitting on your lap while you eat ’s pretty innocent.”

He snorted around a bite and gave you a little half-squeeze. “I reckon you’re right.”

You relaxed and studied the tattoo on his forearm: a dagger and winged skull wearing an Army beret with a banner that stated, “Death Before Dishonor”. You asked about it. You’d noticed it before, but it had never been a good time to ask.

He told you between bites he’d been in the Army Rangers. On a fly-by in Atlanta during his first year in the military, he and a few buddies had gotten tattoos. Without any egotism, he said he completed two tours in Iraq. His last tour, the tour where he’d lost his hand, was in Abu Ghraib.

“Convoy hit an IED. We were two klicks out from Baghdad.”

“Jesus Christ, that sounds terrifying.”

“I don’t remember much. It happened fast.”

That didn’t feel like the whole truth, but you didn’t want to push. You were just glad he survived. You leaned into him and rested your temple against his drying hair. He hugged you back, his hand resting low on your hip.

“I’m glad you’re here, that you got through it.”

He agreed with a wry tone, “Me too.”

You shared a grin with him before leaning forward to press a delicate kiss to his lips. His cheeks were pink when you sat back. You played with the damp ends of his hair to keep yourself from ravaging him right there at the table.

“Do you like the sandwich?” you gently inquired. He’d only eaten half of it so far.

“I do. It’s very good. Thank you.”

“I splurged this week and bought Boar’s Head.”

He fondly surveyed your face with eyes that gleamed. “Worth every penny.”


	6. Chapter 6

You were awoken by a booming clap of thunder. The light coming from around the drapes in your bedroom was a leadened gray. The alarm clock on the nightstand said it was almost noon. You rolled onto your back and stared at the slow-moving ceiling fan. The house was silent as if in anticipation.

You bet the thunder had awoken Clyde, too. He’d probably be hungry. You were, and your stomach noisily agreed.

After finishing his sandwich last night, Clyde had kissed your cheek, thanking you again, and shuffled off to bed. It wasn’t exactly disappointing, but you longed to really kiss him. A little peck here and a nuzzle there didn’t a sexy time make. It was sweet, though, and you could use some of that—especially with him.

Despite his being in another room, you’d gotten out a silk slip to sleep in. You’d found it at the Goodwill in Madison. It’d still had the Woolworth tag on it. It was knee-length and the most delicate shade of blush-pink. It had embroidery by the neckline and spaghetti straps. It was one of prettiest things you owned.

You got up, made the bed, and pulled on a lightweight, ankle-length robe. While you could parade around in just your slip, and nothing else, it seemed tactless. If you were going to get in Clyde Logan’s pants, you’d do it mindfully with more class than you probably had. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t adjust your slip to reveal some cleavage, of course.

The rain started, hard and heavy, just as you finished up in the bathroom. You stuck your head out the front door to find it less muggy and more cool. You left the door open, leaving the screen door to keep out insects. You opened the back door in the kitchen, too. The linoleum was refreshingly chilled under your feet.

With a thorough forage of the fridge, you decided breakfast would be bacon, eggs, and strawberry Eggos. You got the oven going for the bacon, the coffeemaker brewing, and set everything up to make it easy for yourself. After you placed the second batch of uncooked bacon in the oven and set the timer, you ventured to the closed door of the second bedroom.

You listened at the door for a second before softly knocking. Clyde didn’t answer, but breakfast would be ready in less than twenty minutes. You eased the door open to find him dead asleep. He was star-fished diagonally across the mattress with one foot and arm hanging over the sides. You realized with seeing him that the bed was much too short for him.

You approached him and admired the way his wavy hair fanned across the pillow. You put a knee on the mattress and leaned over to touch his arm.

“Clyde?” You rubbed at his bare forearm as thunder rumbled overhead. “Clyde, honey, I’m makin’ breakfast.”

He stirred and then sniffed the air. His eyes opened and when he looked up at you, he dopily grinned. “Hey, angel.” His voice was rough with sleep.

You smiled back as you felt your chest swell with affection. “Hey, I’m makin’ breakfast.”

“I can smell.” He pulled his limbs under the comforter. “’s good.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

He sleepily hummed and rubbed at an eye. “Over easy, if that’s not too much trouble.”

“It isn’t.”

You backed off and almost kicked his duffle. On top was his prosthetic, which was plugged into the wall outlet nearby. Before you left, you told him he had about fifteen minutes. He grunted in reply and rolled onto his side to face the door.

You heard him dodder to the bathroom a few minutes later. You’d just cracked three eggs into the heated skillet when he came up behind you. You told him there was coffee ready, with sugar and creamer by the maker.

He didn’t say anything, but you felt his warm hand at your waist. He peeked over your shoulder. “Looks good, angel.”

The oven timer beeped—the bacon was ready. You playfully nudged him back, putting the lid on the skillet to steam the eggs, and asked him to get the small platter of cooked bacon from the microwave. He practically purred when you bumped into him and he let his hand drift down your hip as he stepped back. You pulled the pan out of the oven with a grin as he came back with the platter. He lingered to watch you stack the last of the crispy bacon on the pile.

“I’ve never seen anyone cook bacon in the oven,” he commented.

“I saw it on Food Network a few years ago. It saves me from getting splattered with hot grease.”

“Jimmy’s daughter, Sadie, is interested in cooking. She watches a lot of those competition shows.”

“I like  _Top Chef_ ,” you offered.

Clyde brightened up. “That’s the one Sadie watches.”

“I’ve got a bunch of episodes saved. Would you like to watch ‘em with me?”

“After breakfast?”

You uh-huh’d as you took the hot, greasy pan to the sink.

He softly said, “I’d like that.”

Clyde took the platter to the table. As he passed, you reached out to touch his arm in affection and noticed he hadn’t put his prosthetic on. He threw a shy smile at you, and you wanted to kiss it right off his face until he was panting and hard in his shorts.

You shook yourself out of it. You had food to prepare. As his eggs finished, you heated four Eggos in the big toaster. When it all was ready, you brought his plate to the table. He thanked you just as your phone vibrated on the kitchen table.

He handed it to you, and you accepted the call. The person on the other end identified themselves as an officer with the Boone County Sheriff. They wanted to speak with Clyde. Mellie must’ve given them your number as Clyde’s contact while his cellphone was scanned for evidence.

You handed the phone back and told him who it was. He talked with the officer, and you went back to the stove to make your eggs and toast two Eggos for yourself. From behind you, Clyde was stoic, keeping his answers short. You caught that he wanted to press charges.

When the conversation was done, he set the phone down and ended the call. “She’s being transferred to a women’s prison near the Ohio border. The state is charging her with a felony for the spy cam. I have to go down to the station to give a final statement.”

“She’s losing her job, isn’t she?” You didn’t think a felon could be a FBI agent.

“Seems that way.”

“I can take you to the Sheriff after breakfast.”

“No need, honey, they don’t need me right now.” He picked up his fork and cut through one of the egg yolks. “I’d rather spend time with you before my shift.”

“When’re you goin’ in?”

“Shift starts at five. We’re open 'til two today.”

You turned back to the stove. “Damn.”

Your eggs were done.

He sighed. “I left mid-shift last night. I have to support my team tonight.”

He was right, but you couldn’t stop feeling disappointed. You schooled your face, plated everything, and sat opposite him at the table. The rain was a steady pitter-pat from the open back door.

“Would you like a ride down?” you offered.

“Nah, Mellie said she’d pick me up. Earl’ll give me a ride back.” He dipped a piece of bacon into the last bit of egg yolk on his plate. “Thank ya, though.”

You nodded and took a couple strips of bacon from the platter. You struggled to change the topic. You didn’t want to talk about Agent Grayson or the bar or his family. He solved the problem by breaking the awkward quiet to ask you what you’d majored in. You told him with a shrug. It was a useless diploma, really. Look at where you worked—you didn’t need a bachelor’s to answer phones and find coding errors.

“I was hopin’ to go to school after the Army,” he said. “Make something of myself.”

You watched him cut a sizable bite off a maple-syrup-soaked Eggo and pierce it. Before he could eat it, he caught you looking.

You gave him a small grin. “You’re already something.”

He tucked his chin to hide his face. “So’re you,” he mumbled and shoved the bite into his mouth.

You took a sip of your coffee to keep yourself from saying something stupid. Or leaning over the table and kissing him breathless. You wanted to show him how much you thought of him. You wanted him to feel it. You set your mug down, telling yourself not to do it yet, and smoothed your robe over your thighs.

You both ate in comfortable silence until the plates were empty and mugs drained. Half the bacon was gone, which was fine. There was enough for bacon-and-tomato sandwiches later. Your mother had dropped off some of her potato salad a few days ago. You were sure it was still good at the back of the fridge, so that could be a nice go-with.

Clyde offered to help you clear the table. Once all the dishes were stacked by the sink, you told him you had it under control. He mentioned he needed to shave and change for work.

“You go, I got this,” you assured him with a smile and turned the faucet on.

He leaned in close. “Thank you.” His hand rested at the small of your back. “Everything was perfect.” He kissed your cheek and let his hand slide across the top of your ass as he stepped back.

You shivered at his light touch, but couldn’t meet his eyes. Because then he’d see how stupidly desperate you were. “You’re welcome.”

He left the kitchen, and you stood there for a second, the running water forgotten. You knew these weren’t mixed signals. He was not running hot and cold, you told yourself. You were just used to a different type of guy, is all. Guys usually had their pants around their ankles the minute a woman even hinted at wanting sex.

At least, that was your experience.

Clyde was going at a different pace. One you were not used to. It made something inside you scream for him to get crude. You wanted to lay him out and rub yourself all over him. You yearned to hear what he wanted to do with you.

At least, you hoped he wanted to do things with you.

You shook yourself and finished stacking the dishes. He wanted something with you. You wrapped up the bacon and made yourself another cup of coffee. There was no way he’d want to stay with you if he didn’t feel something for you. You rinsed and left Clyde’s mug out, calling to him there was enough coffee for one more cup. From the bathroom, he thanked you and said another cup sounded good.

You debated over staying in your slip and robe, but thought better of it. He was changing, so you should as well. You opted for leggings and a longer, raglan-sleeved t-shirt. You also put on underwear and a lounge bra, because if you had to put on clothes, you were going to be comfortable.

You walked your coffee out to the living room and plopped down on the sofa. You cued up  _Top Chef_  on the DVR where you’d left off as you waited for Clyde. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the thunder had ceased, but the sky was still a mottled gray. The air was heavy and aqueous. You bet it would continue to rain for the rest of the day.

Clyde came in with his mug from breakfast, dressed for his shift sans prosthetic, and sat down next to you. You asked if he were ready.

“Yup,” he replied and took a sip of his coffee.

You started the episode and relaxed back into the sofa. You hadn’t realized how close he was until you tried to tuck your foot under your opposite thigh. You nudged his partial arm with your knee and immediately apologized.

“’s alright, angel.”

Beyond the aroma of your coffee, you could smell the crisp scent of his aftershave and detergent. The dark denim of his jeans hugged his thighs. His mug seemed dwarfed in his hand.

It was difficult to concentrate on the television, though you enjoyed the show. One of the confessionals where one contestant mocked another’s pretension made you laugh out loud. You looked at Clyde to see him chuckling. His eyes sparkled as they met yours. You saw his gaze dart down.

_Fuck it._

You placed your half-full mug on the coffee table and turned to him, _Top Chef_ forgotten. He stilled like a deer caught in headlights. You slid a hand over his chest to wrap behind his neck and pull him into a kiss. He went with your urging and met your lips.

It was better than the first kiss at his trailer. It was just you and him. He tilted his head to kiss you deeper, harder. He gave you open-mouth kisses that had you squirming and pushing yourself against his body. His lips were so soft and tasted like sugar and fresh coffee.

You felt him fumble and you pulled back to watch him finally set his mug down on the coffee table next to yours. He angled towards you, and his partial arm slithered around your waist. He lovingly surveyed your face, meeting your eyes, before swooping into kiss you again.

His hand held your cheek as he kissed your mouth open again. His tongue tasted you, skimmed yours, and had you pressing in for more. You raised yourself up and threw your bent leg over his lap.

He slowly trailed his hand down your side and clutched at the underside of your thigh. He pulled you closer until your front was plastered against his. You wrapped your arms behind his neck and let him take your weight. He didn’t seem to mind as he held you close and kept kissing you.

His hand snaked over your thigh to cradle one cheek of your ass. He pulled you up his body and broke the kiss to nip at your neck. You breathlessly hummed and tilted your head back for him.

“You’re so pretty, honey,” he whispered.

He left hot kisses on your throat as his hand stole up your side and rounded your torso to cup your breast. His palm was large and warm as he supported the weight of it. You shivered in his arms and bit your bottom lip.

“’m not the only one,” you returned and gently tugged his head back so you could kiss his lips.

Clyde’s plump lips parted as he looked up at you with dark, slitted eyes. He was gorgeous like this. You leaned in to kiss him, and his mustache tickled your upper lip. You kissed him hard and sucked on his tongue.

It went on and on, heady and heated. You couldn’t get enough of him. He had you feeling dizzy, needy, and hungry. You sucked at his bottom lip, his tender earlobe. You inched the collar of his undershirt away and left a chain of biting kisses down his supple neck. His smooth, warm skin tasted clean.

Before you could move further south and unbutton his shirt, he pulled you onto his lap. You straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips. His hand was on your ass, urging your hips to undulate against him. His simple belt buckle dug into your belly. You could feel the hot bulge of his cock against your wet pussy when you ground down on him. He closed his eyes and groaned as you whimpered at the tease. You wanted to touch his cock, squeeze it, feel the heft of it in your hands. You wanted to know if it was as big as the rest of him.

A car horn blared from outside, and Clyde jerked under you. You looked through the screen door to see the same vintage red car from last night parked on the street. Mellie.

You didn’t think you’d been making out with Clyde for over an hour, but apparently, you had been. It didn’t seem like enough. You could kiss him all day—for the rest of your life.

“It can’t be after four,” you murmured to yourself and checked the clock on the cable box.

It was actually closer to five. Holy shit.

You swung off him and knelt on the couch. An episode of  _Top Chef_  was ending, and you paused it. In the sudden quiet, Clyde stood and adjusted the crotch of his jeans. You averted your eyes while combing back your hair. You felt overheated, your lips were sensitive, and your underwear was soaked.

“Gotta get my hand,” he remarked and hurried to the back of the house.

In the meantime, you straightened your shirt and opened the screen door to wave at Mellie. You were about to step out when Clyde came up behind you. He placed his hand on your back, and you turned to him. He looked like he’d been pawed at and kissed a million times.

Which wasn’t a stretch.

“Call the bar if you need anything.”

You nodded with an “okay.”

He added, “I’ll try to close up early.”

“Okay, good—yeah.”

He wavered on the threshold. “I… Thank you.”

You softly said his name and drew him down for another kiss. Just one more. You kept it light despite wanting to drag him back to your bedroom and forget about work shifts and federal agents and police reports. He broke the kiss, and you righted the collar of his button-up.

“I’ll see ya later, angel.”

“Have a good shift, handsome.”

He gave you a dazzling smile and then rushed through the light drizzle to Mellie’s car. You watched the car pull away from your house once he was in and roll down the street until it was out of sight. You closed the screen door and walked the two mugs of cold coffee back to the kitchen.

You rinsed out the mugs and put them in the dishwasher. You tried to think of all the things you should do. Namely, change your underwear—maybe leggings, too. You were so wet. You wanted Clyde so much. You wanted his hands on you, his lips against yours, his dick pumping in you.

Your aching cunt clenched on nothing. You chucked another 'fuck it’ at the universe and headed to your bedroom.

 

The rest of the day went by too quickly. It probably had something to do with taking a long nap after giving yourself a few orgasms. You rewound  _Top Chef_  on the DVR to get to where you’d kissed Clyde and watched the rest of the episode while doing laundry. You made a bacon-tomato sandwich for yourself and ate potato salad straight from your mother’s Tupperware.

As the sun set and the house darkened, you wondered how he was doing. You wanted to text him to check in, but then you remembered he didn’t have his phone. You debated about going down to Duck Tape, but you didn’t want to seem clingy. You didn’t know if it would be weird.

The dryer dinged with the last load of laundry. You’d put Clyde’s shirt from last night in with your darks load. The shirt had washed well. There was no evidence of the stain. You folded it and left it at the foot of the daybed. You hadn’t noticed earlier, but he’d made the bed. His duffle was zipped closed and tucked against the wall. The charger for his arm was still plugged in.

You’d noticed in the bathroom that he left his grooming kit on the counter. He kept his belongings so neat, so unobtrusive. It was as though he was prepared to ship out at any minute. Or that he didn’t want to intrude upon your space.

You looked around the second bedroom and daydreamed about his bookcase in here. It could fit in the corner next to the desk. That corner didn’t get direct sunlight, so the books wouldn’t yellow.

Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself with that.

You had to be honest with yourself: you didn’t know him that well. You didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life or which side of the bed he preferred or if he liked garlic mashed potatoes.

But here you were, redecorating a room for his books.

You left the second bedroom and flopped down on the sofa. You switched channels until you found a movie you wouldn’t mind in the background as you folded the rest of the laundry. Once everything was neatly piled up on the coffee table, you waited for a commercial break to put things away. It seemed having a guest was a good motivator for keeping things tidy.

After tucking the clean clothes and linens away, you sprawled on the sofa again. It was inching towards midnight, and you should get to bed soon, but you wanted to wait up for Clyde. You compromised by changing into the slip and robe again, brushing your teeth, and washing your face.

The movie you’d been watching ended, so you changed channels until you stumbled across an episode of  _Chopped_. You pillowed your head on the arm of the sofa, curling your feet under the hem of your robe, and watched the episode.

Until a gentle hand smoothed over your shoulder to wake you. You tilted to the side to see Clyde hovering above you. His thick hair shadowed his face from the blue-tinted flicker of the television. He cradled your cheek in his hand.

“Were you waitin’ up for me?” he asked.

You turned into his hand. “I tried.”

“I appreciate that, honey, but why don’t we get you into bed.”

He helped you to your feet and walked you into your bedroom. You grumbled about turning everything off and locking the doors, but he gently hushed you. He sat you on the bed and went to turn on the nearest lamp.

“There’s bacon in the fridge,” you offered with a yawn. “And I sliced a tomato for sandwiches. I can make you one.”

“It’s alright. I ate at the bar.”

You untied your robe. “How was your shift?”

He turned to you and was quiet for a beat. “Long.”

You hummed and shrugged off the robe instead of telling him how you’d wanted to visit him. You let the robe pool around your hips and looked up at him. His hair wasn’t as full as it had been in the afternoon. He looked a little wilted and rumpled, but still so beautiful. You wanted to kiss him again. You were keenly aware how naked you were under the slip.

“You can sleep in here with me. That daybed is too short for you,” you said.

Clyde didn’t comment either way. He turned down the blanket and top sheet. You scooted to the head of the bed and pushed your legs between the sheets. He folded the blanket over you and leaned forward.

You arched up, hoping he was going to kiss you, and gripped his shoulder to pull him down. He put his flesh hand under your chin and tilted your head to kiss your forehead. His full lips were dry, but soft.

“Good night, angel,” he tenderly said as he straightened.

You bit your lip. “Good night.”

He left your bedroom and closed the door behind him. You looked down to see a lot of your upper chest on display. You wondered if you weren’t alluring enough. Though, you had decidedly been wearing more clothes this afternoon. And he had pulled you onto his lap and groaned at the feel of you against him. Maybe it was something else. It was late, and you were sure he was tired.

You turned off the lamp and settled into bed as you heard the front door softly close. The little click of the lock being engaged followed shortly thereafter. In the dark,  _alone_ , you smoothed a hand over the empty side of the bed. You were sure you hadn’t made a fool of yourself. You had only made out with him. It had been good. Fun.  _Hot._  You hadn’t spilled your deepest-darkest to him.

However, you were certainly ready to.


	7. Chapter 7

You put the phone back on the coffee table. You’d forgotten it there last night when Clyde had escorted you to bed, so you’d missed the call from the FBI agent in charge of his case. They’d left a voicemail stating there were positive developments in the case and asking Clyde to call them at his earliest convenience. You knew what that meant: Clyde was free to go home.

You almost wanted to delete the voicemail. Then Clyde could stay with you until the agent or the sheriff came looking for him. But deleting wasn’t the right thing to do. He had to get back to his life.

You guessed you did, too.

It made you want to cry. You didn’t want to go back to your boring life of going to work and coming back to an empty house. Shit, you thought, maybe you should get a pet. Like a sweet little calico to wind around your ankles as you prepared dinner or pop up between you and the book you were reading. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so hollow at the thought of a home without Clyde in it.

With a deep breath, you pocketed the phone and went to the kitchen. It was a cheerful morning—a stark contrast from yesterday. The clear sky was a delicate blue. There were birds chirping and the gentlest of breezes rustling the leaves of the trees.

Clyde was still asleep, and you couldn’t find it in you to wake him just yet. Instead, you pulled the leftover bacon from the fridge and decided to make hoecakes since there were only two Eggos left. You could chop up the bacon and put it in the batter, and serve them with maple syrup. On the side, you could cook him a couple of eggs.

You heard Clyde move around just as you were getting out a knife to chop the bacon. You became hyperaware of the phone in the pocket of your robe. When he came into the kitchen, you put down the knife and turned to him with a smile. He was wearing the same t-shirt and shorts from yesterday.

“Mornin’! I’m makin’ hoecakes.”

He was quiet for a second, face blank and mouth partially open. “I haven’t had those since Mommy passed.”

“Oh, I can make somethin’ different.” You shrugged. “If you want.”

“No,” he said as he took a step towards you. “Hoecakes sound great.”

You nodded with a small grin. “Okay, then.” You fished out your phone as you approached him. “You got a call from an FBI agent.”

You unlocked your phone, pulling up the voicemail, and handed it to him. He thanked you and took the phone to listen to the message, wandering out of the kitchen as he did. You turned to the counter and went back to making breakfast. You told yourself not to get upset. Nothing between you was changing.

You heard his deep voice coming from the front of the house. He’d obviously called the agent back. Naturally, you could only hear one side of the conversation, but you could intuit what it was about.

When Clyde came back to the kitchen, he placed the phone on the table and told you he was cleared to go home. He said they’d used some sort of meter to uncover two other bugs in the trailer. They’d found a monitoring device on the landline, too.

“But it’s all gone now?” you clarified as you flipped the first batch of hoecakes.

“Yep.”

“And now you can return home after breakfast! Get back to your life!” You tried to keep your voice bright, but you couldn’t look at him. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

There was a tense beat before he agreed.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. And, on your end, strained. You attempted to be upbeat as you offered to drive him home, but it felt fake and damn near neurotic. You didn’t want him to go. You were close to begging him to stay. Not just to make out with him, but because you liked his company. You wanted to get to know him better.

For his part, Clyde didn’t seem too keen on finishing his food. He eventually ate it all, but not with the same pleasure he’d had yesterday. You didn’t want to read into it, and you didn’t ask if he liked everything.

After breakfast, you shoo’d him out of the kitchen so he could pack his belongings. You piled the dirty dishes in the sink and ran water in them with the thought you’d get to them when you returned home. Or not. Who cared. It was just going to be you in the house.

You changed clothes and clipped your hair back from your face. By the time you were done, so was Clyde. The walk out to the car was silent, as was the ride to his place. You wanted to say something, but what?

As you waited for a few cars to pass at the turn-off to Clyde’s road, you met his brown, lustrous eyes. You grinned at him, and he offered a shy smile in return. The wind from the open windows had ruffled his hair. You had the urge to tuck it behind his ear.

That would be invading his space, wouldn’t it? Maybe you’d been overstepping and invading this whole time. Sure, he’d kissed you back and grabbed your ass,  _and then some_ , but you had initiated. It seemed weird if he was only being nice. He didn’t seem the type to lead a person on.

Something was going on, but you sure as hell couldn’t figure it out.

You finally made the turn and rolled down the gravel road, pulling in next to his huge Pontiac. Once you parked, he opened the door and got a hold of his duffle in the foot-well. You had to say something. He put a foot on the ground. It was now or never.

“Clyde, I—”

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome, but I—”

“You didn’t have to help me—”

“Dammit, Clyde, can I get a word in edgewise?”

He all but pouted and nodded once, looking at his knees.

“I’m sorry for throwing myself at you. I would’ve helped you without that, okay? I don’t want you to feel pressured. Or like you owe me.”

He looked at you then, a little moue of confusion coloring his handsome features. “Angel, you’ve never pressured me. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. You’re… everything I could ever hope for.”

It felt like you’d been gut-punched. You choked out, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You’re too good for me, and I… I don’t wanna take advantage.”

“Oh, but you didn’t…” Your voice broke in the middle, but you didn’t know how to finish anyway.

“I’m not— You deserve—” He shook his head, his lips tightening. “Thank you, again,” he rushed out and levered himself out of the car, taking his duffle and closing the door with his prosthetic.

You gawped like a fish, your voice gone.  _Come back_ , you wanted to say.  _Don’t go. Please kiss me—one more time._

You watched him march into the trailer and close the front door with a definitive snap. You wanted to follow him and kick that stupid door down. You didn’t understand anything. You didn’t know what he wasn’t. You didn’t know what he thought you deserved.

And then a terrible thought occurred to you: If you went in there, screaming for explanations, you’d hear something that would tear you in two. What if he wasn’t really interested? What if his sweet words were just an easy out?

Maybe he hadn’t used you, but he hadn’t stopped you either.

The same could be said for you.

Actually, you’d used the whole situation to get close to him. He must know that. You’d manipulated everything to work in your favor. It just so happened that Clyde benefitted and Sarah Grayson was apprehended.

You didn’t know what you expected when everything was resolved, really. You didn’t know if you wanted Clyde to be grateful and ask you out. Or if you just wanted to feel like you were part of the Logan clan.

You reversed onto the road and went back home, half ashamed of yourself. The breakfast dishes seemed unimportant now. You didn’t care if you ever got around to washing them.

After you slogged inside your house, you dumped your purse on the couch and kicked off your sandals. You walked into the second bedroom and burrowed between the Clyde-scented sheets. You buried your face in the pillow and breathed him in. He smelled so good. You wished he was there with you. You would hold him and run your fingers through his silky hair. You’d tell him how important he was to you.

Your sigh turned into a hiccuping sob,  _because he wasn’t there and probably never would be again_ , and you cried yourself to sleep.

 

There was no talk of Duck Tape at work until Wednesday. No one said anything about “Emmie” being arrested over the weekend. You didn’t mention her, either. Perhaps they didn’t know. An arrest made back where Clyde lived was unlikely to become common knowledge. On top of that, she wasn’t local, so they could simply assume she’d moved on.

And even if “Emmie” wasn’t going to be there, you didn’t want to play pool and drink at Duck Tape. You couldn’t face Clyde. You wondered if he knew about you, if he’d figured you out. He hadn’t contacted you since you’d dropped him off.

You suppose his silence said it all.

Kayla asked if you wanted to come. You blinked at her for a moment before you shook your head. You had to think quick. You told her your mother was redecorating and needed help with the new drapes. You went on to say your father was useless with those kind of things.

No one brought up Duck Tape again with you.

Until the following Tuesday. The team said they missed you on Thursday night. Tanya chimed in with a grin that Clyde had asked after you. They begged you to come with them this week. You relented on Wednesday when you couldn’t think of an excuse.

That night, you stood in front of your closet and wondered what to wear. You didn’t want to appear affected. You couldn’t schlep in there wearing your work clothes. You didn’t want to seem desperate for Clyde’s attention, either.

You pulled out a pair of jeans that made your butt look good and an oversized band t-shirt you could knot in the middle. You thought your usual sandals would do. You set everything aside and tried not think about the future.

Jose was elected designated driver for this Thursday. You ended up wedged against one of the backdoors, your legs tangled with Kayla’s. Your stomach was a knot again, but for a totally different reason. You couldn’t cut through this like the Gordian Knot. And you couldn’t dazzle and charm Clyde like nothing had happened.

Once Jose parked and you unfolded yourself from the backseat, you stared at the orange letters of Duck Tape’s sign. It was dumb to be this nervous, you concluded. He wasn’t going to say anything if he’d figured out your selfishness. He didn’t seem the type to publicly embarrass a person. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t really interested. He had a job to do. And that job was to make you an excellent drink.

No more, no less.

You walked in with your coworkers like you usually did. The group claimed a booth at the back like they usually did. You waited with them to put in an order at the bar—like you usually did.

It didn’t matter that at the first sight of Clyde you wanted to vault over the bar and climb him like a tree. He wore a navy-blue button-up and black jeans that had faded to gray. His eyes were more amber than you’d ever seen them.

When he came to you, he smiled, bright and sweet. “Hi, stranger.”

You smiled back despite your trepidation. “Hey.”

“The usual?”

“Y-yes, please.”

That old feeling was back. The kind that made you feel squirmy in the best way. It made you think he hadn’t guessed how selfish you’d been. It made you brave enough to linger when your coworkers went back to the billiard section.

“Missed ya last Thursday,” Clyde casually mentioned as he wiped watery condensation rings from the bar.

He  _missed_  you. You thought your infatuated heart was going to flutter its way out of your chest.

“I—” You couldn’t blurt you loved him. No, you couldn’t. Shut it. “I, uh, I had to help my mom.”

“She alright?”

You waved away his concern. “Oh yeah, no big deal.”

Yeah, no big deal. You were just fucking dying.

“I would’ve called you,” he said. “But I only have your number in my cellphone.”

“You haven’t gotten it back yet?”

“Got it back today, actually.”

You took a step closer. “Was there anything on it?”

“No.”

“Good.” You nodded to yourself. “That’s good.”

“I was thinkin'—”

Your name being called from behind you interrupted him. You turned to see everyone watching you and Clyde. Tanya looked like the cat who got the cream and stated you were up at the pool-table. She took a sip of her beer and winked at you. You made a face at her before turning to Clyde.

“I guess I should head back,” you said and thumbed behind you.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna keep you from your friends.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You gave him a weak grin and joined your meddling coworkers. And they kept meddling. They sent you,  _alone_ , to the bar for refills. They asked you to pick  _a love song_  from the jukebox. While you were tempted to choose AC/DC’s “T.N.T.” out of spite, you went for “Dream Baby” by Roy Orbison.

You didn’t look at Clyde when it came on. Nor when Tanya forced you to dance with her, which you didn’t need much persuading to do.

You might not have looked at him, but you could feel him. Like a silent sentry behind the bar. You couldn’t tell if that made you feel secure or self-conscious. Maybe both. You wondered if it was self-centered to think he was watching you. It probably was. He had more important things to focus on than some overstepping, obsessive idiot like yourself.

When everyone was ready to go home, you paid your tab. It was half of what it should be. You thanked Clyde and left a generous tip in the jar at the corner of the bar. Before leaving, you waited for him to finish serving a customer. He noticed you, even throwing a little grin your way.

The sudden urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. You didn’t care you were in public or that your coworkers were waiting on you. Nothing else mattered.

You leaned heavily on the bar to steady yourself. The ledge dug into your ribs. It grounded you, keeping you from crawling over the barrier and into his unguarded arms.

He came to you and curled forward as if to keep curious ears from listening. “Something else, angel?” he softly asked.

You didn’t know what you wanted. You wanted everything, selfishly. Like a greedy toddler. As always. You scrambled for an excuse to talk to him.

You asked, “You workin’ this weekend?”

With a gentle sigh and shrug, he replied, “Yep.”

“Well, maybe I can bring you dinner tomorrow?”

“I’d love that.”

You shared a smile with him before rapping your knuckles on the counter and standing straight. “Okay, then. I’ll fix somethin’.”

“My break’s usually around nine-thirty.”

You nodded and took a step back. “Nine-thirty, got it. See you tomorrow!”

“See ya, honey.”

Back at Jose’s car, you preemptively told Tanya—who was outright smirking—to keep quiet. She gave you an innocent look and announced she’d said nothing.

“Yeah, and you’ll keep it that way,” you said, half-joking.

 

You spent Friday thinking of something tasty to bring Clyde between calls. You settled on patty melts, cucumber salad, and pineapple-orange fluff for dessert. You decided to substitute half of a diced Sara Lee poundcake for the marshmallows in the fluff. That would be a nice twist. And who didn’t like cake?

After work, you rushed to the store to get what you needed. It appeared everyone had weekend plans which involved moseying around the Grocery Castle. You dodged and weaved around people having Old Home Week in the middle of the aisles and the mouth-breathers staring at the different bags of frozen potato products.

While they may want to take their time, you didn’t. You had a… Boyfriend? Potential boyfriend? Make-out partner? Almost significant other? …to prepare food for. And you wanted enough time to make everything as good as you could.

After getting through the check-out lane and packing your car’s backseat with the shopping bags, you headed home. It was a beautiful day: sunny, breezy, but not too hot. It was going to be a great night, you were sure of it.

You thought about what you were going to say to Clyde as you turned onto the 85 towards your house. You were serious about him. It wasn’t just a crush anymore. You needed to know if he felt the same. You hoped he did. All the signs indicated he was interested. From his smile to the way he called you  _angel_.

But maybe you were projecting? No. You shook your head. Not projecting.

As you waited at the light by Rite Aid, the screech of tires coming from behind you flustered you out of your thoughts. Before you could glance at the rearview mirror, the world spun.


	8. Chapter 8

You stared at the ceiling of your car, sunglasses lost somewhere on the floor. Some asshole had just rear-ended you and knocked your car into the middle of the intersection. Your seat had broken during the impact. The airbag hadn’t deployed, either.  _Cheap fucking car._ Well, maybe not so cheap. You were fine. Though, you heard the rev of an engine and yelling from behind you.

You could literally feel adrenaline surge through your body as you braced for a second impact. The thought of Agent Grayson out on bail flashed through your mind. She could be out for your blood. You wouldn’t put it past her. Look at what she’d done to Clyde.

Instead of being rammed again, Kayla and her girlfriend poked their heads through the open driver-side window. They reminded you of prairie dogs.

“Hey, stay still,” the girlfriend gently said.

You struggled for her name. It was something with an M. Mary, Michaela, Michelle.  _Whatever._  You felt bad about not remembering her name, but you figured you deserved a pass this time.

You stuttered, “Wh-who h-hit me?”

“Don’t know. Just stay still.”

There was a racket of arguing voices from outside. Kayla and her girlfriend straightened and frowned at the apparent commotion happening on the street. You realized then your car had stalled out. You put your wobbly foot on the brake and shifted into Park. It wasn’t like you were going anywhere.

Kayla and Girlfriend disappeared from view for a moment. Then you saw Kayla round the front of the car and open the passenger door. She gave you a warm, compassionate grin and crouched at eye-level. Somehow, it made you feel better.

You took a deep, if shaky, breath. “Where did you two come from?”

“Rite Aid,” Kayla said and pointed across the street. “You want me to call anyone?”

“My mom.” You almost said Clyde, too, but you knew he’d be getting ready for work. You didn’t want to stress him out when he couldn’t do anything for you. You’d call him once you got home to make your excuses.

Kayla opened your purse and found the phone. She called your mother and told her what had happened. You could hear the rising tension in your mother’s voice through the speaker. For some reason, you wanted to apologize, though you knew she wouldn’t be able to hear you.

Kayla ended the call just as Girlfriend leaned into the car again. Girlfriend told you the police and EMTs were on the way. You tried protesting that you didn’t need to go to the hospital, but neither of them would hear of it.

As if on cue, you heard approaching sirens. You relaxed in the driver’s seat and mentioned your thawing groceries and missing sunglasses. Kayla went to the backseat and unloaded the bags onto the street. They assured you they’d take care of it all.

“I was makin’ Clyde dinner tonight.” Your throat closed then. He was going to be waiting for you. He’d been so happy last night. And here you were, standing him up—disappointing him. Which you knew wasn’t your fault. But it didn’t make you feel any better about the situation.

There was a sudden flurry of action and noise to distract you from your morose thoughts about jilting Clyde. The EMTs wrapped a brace around your neck and checked your vitals. As you were being moved onto a backboard, your mother showed up. After all the strangers manhandling you, it was good to see her face.

You assured her you were okay as the EMTs loaded you onto a gurney, but she held your hand until they hoisted you into the ambulance. She told you she’d be right behind. Kayla passed your purse to her and said something to her you didn’t catch.

The ambulance doors closed, and you shut your eyes against the harsh light illuminating the interior of the vehicle. The EMTs asked you questions, asked you to wiggle your toes and fingers. All of which you could do.

They took you to the lone hospital in Madison. It wasn’t a big place. The ER was small. There were only four bays, and you were wheeled down to the last one. There, you were poked and prodded and examined.

Your mother was waiting for you when the nurses wheeled you back from having a full-body scan. As you two waited, she told you she’d taken care of your groceries. However, she had bad news. The other driver—a man and  _not_  Agent Grayson—who’d ran into you was uninsured. He’d been intoxicated, too. He was being charged with DUI and whatever else the police could think of. Including attempted hit-and-run.

So, that would explain what all the commotion on the street had been about.

Your car was at EMS Tire and Towing. Your mother said the car was probably a lost cause, though. You sighed and slumped against the bed. You were royally screwed. You only had liability insurance because it was such an old car. She promised she and your father would help you out. They’d drive you where you needed to go in the meantime.

You thanked her and apologized. She wasn’t having any of it, though. She shushed you, saying she was glad you weren’t seriously hurt. As if to confirm this, the ER doctor marched into your bay to report your spine was fine. He took off your neck brace, too. He then logged into the hospital terminal by the bed and pulled up the scans. He enlarged the black and gray pictures of your body to show you everything was normal.

He recommended relaxing for the weekend and taking OTC pain-relievers for any stiffness. You and your mother thanked him, and he closed the bay curtain when he left. You asked for the time as you sat up and rolled your neck. You were a little stiff, but it was probably from the uncomfortable brace.

Just as you asked for your shoes, the bay’s curtain flew back. You jumped and looked up to see Clyde Logan standing at the foot of the bed. He was dressed like always: gray-toned button-up and faded jeans. The dark waves of his hair shone under the overhead lights.

“I shouldn’t’ve left. On Sunday. I didn’t want to leave. Not ever,” he blurted as he took a step forward. “And I should’ve kissed you Saturday. When I came home from work. I wanted to, real bad.”

The ER bay, Clyde, your mother went watery and blurry. The bright lights hazed as you eyes overflowed with tears. You felt your face twist up to hold back your sob. Because he was here  _for you_. You didn’t know how he’d found out what had happened, but he was here.

Your mother murmured, “I’ll give you two a minute.”

“Oh, excuse me, ma'am,” he addressed her, as if finally noticing her, and bowed his head.

She brushed it off and said she’d talk to the nurses about getting you released. You nodded in acknowledgement, dislodging a few tears as you did, and yet kept staring at Clyde. You’d seen him just yesterday, but it felt like weeks.

Once you and Clyde were alone, he came to you. He propped a hip on the bed and offered his flesh hand. You took it in both of yours and clutched at it.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

“What for?”

“For not having the guts to say what I wanted before.”

“And you want to stay with me?”

He nodded. “And kiss you.”

You smiled and huffed out a laugh while wiping fresh tears from your cheeks. “What’re you waitin’ for, then?”

He came for you with soft lips and dark eyes. When his lips met yours, you released his hand and threw your arms around his broad shoulders. He angled his head and deepened the kiss. His slick tongue teased yours over and over. You felt him quietly sigh. It made you want more of him. You didn’t know how he knew how to do that to you, but you were almost grateful he could.

He leaned in, and you felt the mattress dip on either side of your hips. You pulled him closer with both hands clutching at his shoulders. You ran your palms over him and dug your fingers in his hair. He lowly groaned and then sucked at your tongue.

You tried to press up against him, get your legs around him. Forget the ER. You had Clyde Logan on your bed and kissing you.

He broke the kiss despite your apparent hunger. He pressed his forehead to yours with eyes closed.

“Will you let me take you home?” he asked.

“Will you stay the night?”

He pulled back to study your face. “You want me to stay…?”

“In my bed,” you whispered fiercely. “I want to—”

Someone clearing their throat from behind Clyde stopped you from finishing your thought. You peeked over his shoulder as he turned to see your mother. You relaxed, glad it wasn’t a hospital employee to kick you out. She gave you a look that said she knew what you two were discussing and this was not the place. It wasn’t exactly disapproving, though, but you felt chastened just the same.

“Someone’ll be around with paperwork in a minute,” your mother stated and refused to acknowledge the state of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Thank you, Momma.” You held out a hand to Clyde. “This is Clyde Logan. He’s… my boyfriend.”

Clyde straightened from the bed and offered his hand to your mother. “Ma'am, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Your mother shook his hand. “It’s good to meet you.” She looked at his face for a second. “You went to school with my daughter, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma'am. I’ve been admiring her for a long time.”

“Well,” she said, a tone of surprise in her voice. “I hope you do more than admire from afar from now on.”

You wanted to admonish her as you felt your face heat. Because it sounded an awful lot like she wanted Clyde to make love to you. While you hadn’t gotten any since moving back home, you didn’t need her telling your new boyfriend to break your dry spell.

“If she’ll have me,” Clyde replied.

She looked at you with a sly grin and hummed in contemplation. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

“Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself and scooted to the side of the bed to get your shoes on.

Your mother made polite conversation by asking where Clyde was working and how his family was faring. He answered each question politely, which made you smile to yourself. He sounded nervous, as if he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“If it’s alright, Momma, Clyde’s gonna drive me home.”

“Of course.” She nodded and adjusted her purse straps. “In that case, I’ll be heading home myself.”

She came around the bed and hugged you, saying she was thankful you were okay. You hugged her back and told her you loved her.

“I love you too, sweetie. Gimme a call if you need anything, hear?”

“Yes, Momma.”

She gave Clyde a friendly nod and left the bay, delegating your care to him. You two weren’t left alone for long, though. A nurse came in with a clipboard and had you sign your release form. You were relieved to see your insurance covered the ER visit. There was a minor co-pay, but nothing that overly concerned you.

Clyde carried your purse and escorted you to his car. He held the door for you and made sure you were settled before shutting it. You would’ve reached across the seat to open the driver-side door for him, but you would’ve had to climb on top of the huge console to open the damn thing.

You gave him a smile when he met your gaze after sitting. You were overjoyed he was here, but you wondered how. “How did you know what happened?”

“Your friend texted me on your phone.”

You pulled your phone out of your purse and read the message as Clyde started the car. It had been Kayla.  _Of course._  You pulled up her contact to text her you were fine and on the way home. You ended the message by thanking her. You didn’t know how you would’ve managed without her and her girlfriend.

As you waited at the light in front of the hospital, you confessed to having nothing good to eat at home. You had all the makings for patty melts, but you didn’t feel like cooking. There were frozen meals too, but they didn’t sound all that appealing.

Your stomach complained long and loud then. You laughed at the disgruntled sound. You were a couple of hours past dinner time. It was dusk, after all.

Clyde offered to drop you off and get something easy. You suggested Dairy Queen. He agreed, saying he hadn’t had a cheeseburger in months. You requested a chicken strip basket and cookie-dough Blizzard. You asked if he’d had the burgers at Tudor’s. He replied he liked the ones at K’s better—they were juicier. Though, you both agreed the biscuits at Tudor’s were superior. For a restaurant, that is.

Once his car was idling in front of your house, you leaned over the console to give him a kiss. He met you halfway. You kept it light, though you wouldn’t mind making out in the driveway. You looked into his eyes and remembered him saying how he had “admired” you in high school.

“Did you have a crush on me back in the day?” you asked with a grin.

He looked a little bashful as he said, “I reckon I did.”

“I wish you would’ve said something.”

“I wish I had, too.”

“I would’ve gone out with you in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirmed and kissed him again.

He held your cheek in his flesh hand and kissed you hard. You hoped it was a promise of things to come. You couldn’t believe how well he kissed you. No one had ever felt like this.

He pulled away with a heavy sigh. “You best get in the house.”

You sighed too and got out of the car. Your stomach rumbled again as you were fishing your keys out of your purse. You turned and waved at Clyde once you took a step inside. He raised a hand and backed out of the driveway.

You hadn’t let the place go in the two weeks since he’d been here, but it wasn’t really fit for company. You dropped your purse by the coffee table, turned on some lights, and neaten up just a little. Or at least attempted to hide the signs of slobbishness. You couldn’t believe your mother had seen all this and not commented.

After closing the blinds and flipping on the television for some background noise, you stripped and took a shower. You felt like you smelled of stress, though your hair was in good condition. You pinned it back and cleaned up—shaving while you were at it.

Because you’d meant what you said in the hospital: You wanted him in your bed.

You slathered on lotion, wanting to be silky soft everywhere. As you waited for it to soak in, you threw the bed covers over the wrinkled sheets and fluffed pillows. You organized your shoes back into the closet and closed the door to hide its less-than-tidy state.

The racket of Clyde entering the living room had you dashing to find something to wear. You threw on a big t-shirt and a pair of plaid sleep-pants. It wasn’t pretty like the silk slip, but you were sure it wouldn’t matter.

You greeted him and helped unload the Dairy Queen bag. There was a Rite Aid bag as well, and you grabbed that as you sat down next to him. He choked on a protest as you reached in. You pulled out a slim black box with gold lettering. You turned it over to read Trojan Magnum Bareskin condoms, ten count. You peeked into the bag see a box of Crunch N’ Munch and mixed-berry cereal bars.

“Wow, honey,” you teased as you dropped the condoms back in the bag. “You sure know how to romance a girl.”

“I just thought—”

You cut him off, “No, hey, it’s okay.” You grinned at him and cradled his blushing face. “Thank you for plannin’ ahead.”

“We don’t hafta use ‘em tonight. Or even this weekend.”

“I know, but thank you just the same.”

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him. He relaxed and then drew back to kiss your cheek.

His voice was gruff as he spoke: “I just wanna take care of you.”

“You have—you are.” You smiled, and he returned it. “C'mon, let’s eat.”

Your Blizzard and his red Slush were melting on the coffee table. You wrapped napkins around the treats and ate a few spoonfuls of your Blizzard. You popped open the box for your chicken strip basket and dunked a fry in the warm country-style gravy. Next to you, Clyde partially unwrapped his double-patty cheeseburger, supported the underside with his prosthetic, and took a big bite.

You wanted to make conversation, but you were too hungry. You offered the little container of BBQ sauce to Clyde for his fries, and he mumbled a  _“thanks”_  as you opened it for him. You were barely aware of what was on the television in front of you. He seemed to be of the same mindset, if his silence was any indication.

When you finished your chicken and fries and Texas toast, you picked up your Blizzard and scooted back onto the couch. You realized then a real-life murder investigation show was on. You mentally shrugged as you ate. If he didn’t mind, neither did you.

He wiped his hand when he was finished and softly groaned as he sunk against the couch next to you. You offered a bite of your Blizzard, making sure there was a least two cookie-dough nuggets. He leaned in for you to feed him. In return, he extended his Slush to you. You took a long pull from the straw, finding the Slush to be strawberry-kiwi flavor, and got instant, unexpected brain-freeze.

Your face scrunched up as you yowled, and you pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth to assuage the discomfort. He chuckled at you and asked if you were okay. You nodded and buried your face between his shoulder and the couch.

His shoulder shifted, and you felt him pet your hair. His shirt smelled like crisp detergent. You tilted your head and rubbed your cheek against his shoulder. His hand hung in the air below your jaw.

“Thank you for dinner,” you murmured.

“Despite the brain-freeze?”

You grinned and looked into his twinkling eyes. “Yeah.”

He tipped your chin up. “You’re welcome, angel.”

He moved in and kissed you. His lips tasted like artificial strawberry, and his tongue was still a little cool from the Slush. You tried to kiss the flavor right off his skin.

Clyde broke the kiss after a few minutes and let out a breath.  _“Damn.”_

That felt like a compliment.

“How about you finish your dessert and then come sit on my lap,” he half-asked.

You hummed, pleased. “Yes, sir.”

The remainder of the Blizzard was mostly melted, but you fished out all the nuggets of cookie-dough. You left the half-inch of liquefied ice cream behind and set the cup on the coffee table. In the meantime, he’d finished his Slush. You took the plastic cup from him and placed it beside yours.

You raised yourself up on your knees and straddled his lap. “Is this the kinda lap-sitting you meant?”

He bit his lip and nodded, placing his hands on your hips and giving them a squeeze as you seated yourself. His prosthetic wasn’t as strong as his flesh hand, but it didn’t matter. It felt like him.

He ran both hands up your sides until his thumb could trace the underside of your breast. Your nipples started to tighten. He sat there for a moment, staring at your torso. You let your arms hang by your sides. You didn’t want to force anything.

“Can I push this up, honey? Will you let me see you?”

You nodded and helped lift the hem of your t-shirt. You heard him suck in a breath as your breasts were revealed. You tried not to be self-conscious as you tucked your shirt under your arms. The look on his face gave you a boost in confidence.

“Lookit you. You’re prettier than I imagined.”

You snickered, but still felt your face heat. “You imagined me?”

“So many times.” He looked at your face and then back to your chest. “Lemme kiss 'em.”

You shuffled closer, braced yourself with hands on his shoulders, and arched your breasts right in his face. He groaned and pushed his face between them. He mouthed at the sides of them. His warm flesh hand gently cupped one and massaged it. You could feel your nipples pucker even more.

Never did you think this would happen. Not on that fateful first Thursday. And certainly not when you’d seen him with “Emmie.” Not even today. It had always been fantasy.

Clyde got his mouth on a nipple and sucked at it. It was like touching a live wire. The heat filled you, and you held onto him. He steadied your chest and worked his way all around your breasts, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your tingling skin. Each one a spark.

A fantasy no longer.

You dipped down to kiss him, slithering your belly over his. You licked his tongue, sucked on his bottom lip. You ground against the firm bulge of his erection. You could feel how wet you were becoming.

He thrust up against you, pushing you forward. Your nipples dragged against his shirt, and you let out a little noise against his lips. There was part of you which knew you could grind and rub yourself to climax just like this.

But to get his dick inside you was all you wanted. Just imagining how it would feel had your pussy clenching and gushing.

He skimmed his fingers under your sleep-pants to slide across the small of your back. He hummed and pulled his face away from yours. “You’re not wearin’ panties.”

“Didn’t have time.”

“Your skin’s so soft.” His hand disappeared further under your pants. It felt like he could span the whole cheek with a hand. “And your ass’s just right in my hand.”

You wiggled against him, stimulating your clit against his erection and your rear in his hold.

“You don’t mind me gettin’ a little crude, do ya, angel?”

“Say anything you want to me. I wanna know everything.”

He stared deep into your eyes. “I wanna know everything, too.”

You felt his fingers creep lower and center on the valley between the muscles of your ass. You inched up, encouraging him to go lower. The elastic waistband of your pants pulled as he explored. His touch was gentle as he skimmed over your anus and then to your wet slit.

You whimpered and leaned forward to press your hot cheek to the top of the couch. You bit back begging him to push his thick fingers inside you. You flexed in his hold, arching your back, presenting your pussy for him.

“Is this…” He ran his fingers right through your slick folds. “Because of me?”

“Uh-huh,” you breathlessly whispered.

He cupped your sex and nestled his middle finger against your clit. “I thought about this that Saturday. Had to jerk off in the bathroom before my shift.”

“Thought about what?”

“Fingerin’ you, makin’ you come, kissin’ you everywhere.” He lazily stroked your clit. “Pushin’ deep inside you.”

You moaned and nodded. You wanted that, too. You wanted him to keep going. Each slow caress over your clit had you tightening and quivering.

Clyde sagged under you, angling himself a little to get his mouth on your breast. You helped, but got annoyed with your t-shirt when it wouldn’t stay in place. You whipped it off and threw it to the side.

He purred against the luscious weight of your breasts and pressed on your clit. He found your nipple again and sucked. You cried out, your eyes rolled back their sockets, and you twisted in his arms. It felt as though there was a thrumming nerve connecting the two points of your body together.

Something about it stretched you to the brink. You couldn’t take anymore. You sat back, and his lush mouth released your nipple with a pop. You took hold of his gorgeous face and kissed him hard. You put everything into it. Silently, you made him feel how much and how long you’d been wanting him.

He moaned and opened for you, letting you deepen the kiss as you wished. His flesh hand stilled, but didn’t move away. His prosthetic rested at your waist. You laid against him, kissing him and smoothing his ruffled hair away from his forehead.

He whispered against your lips: “I’m gonna come the second I get inside you.”

“That’s okay,” you replied with a little grin and nuzzled his cheek. “We got ten condoms.”

He softly laughed, but quieted as you continued to move down to his throat. You eased him sideways on the couch until he was lounging against the closest arm. He was spread below you like a feast. You moved the collar of his black undershirt to the side and kissed his neck. His skin tasted good, clean—like worn-away soap and aftershave.

You sat up to work on the buttons of his shirt. You caught him staring up at you. He looked at you like you’d hung the moon, and you gave him a little smile. With a yank, you freed his shirt and spread it. The undershirt he wore hugged his torso. You ran your hands up his chest, and the microfiber fabric rucked up with your movements.

You pulled the undershirt free from his jeans and got your hands on his skin. His stomach was firm with a little extra meat from good meals. His skin was soft, and you detected a few scars on his left side. You figured it was from the shrapnel of the IED that had taken his hand. On his right, high up on the side of his ribcage was the raised flesh of what you guessed was a tattoo.

You glanced at him to see him looking relaxed yet wanting. You pushed his shirt up to get a good look at him, finally, and the view didn’t disappoint. He was brawny. His chest was developed and strong from years of workouts. There was a thin patch of chest hair between his pecs and delicate beauty marks scattered over his torso.

“And you say I’m pretty,” you murmured as you stroked your thumbs over his pink nipples.

He bit his lip, put his hand on your hip, and rolled his pelvis against you. “Oh, honey, you don’t gotta flatter me.”

You rocked with him. “Trust me, I’m not.”

You bent forward to kiss him again. You couldn’t get enough of his soft lips, his clever tongue, feeling his mustache tickling your face, his bare chest against yours. His warm hand left a path of heat across your back as he hugged you.

Slowly, you eased down his body. You kissed his jaw, his neck, the very beginning of his collarbone. You skipped over the bunched-up undershirt and went to his chest. You laved his pert nipples with your tongue, swirling the tip around the puckered points. He groaned, and you looked up at him before pinching one between your teeth.

He arched and looked shocked by the tiny hurt. You kissed it to soothe him and kept moving down, maneuvering off his lap little by little. His hand held the nape of your neck, his thumb rubbing in your hair. He held still as you kissed his soft stomach until your chin bumped into his belt buckle.

From your new place on the floor between his thighs, you saw how large the bulge of his erection was. You asked him if you could unzip his pants, and he nodded. You undid his belt, and the button and fly of his jeans. Underneath were black BVDs with a wet spot high up. The tip of his cock was straining the fabric near the waistband.

His looked thicker and longer than any cock you’d seen outside of porn. You tugged his jeans down below his hips and then pulled his underwear away from his body and down. You stared at his dick as it lay against the trail of dark hair on his belly.

His cock got harder before your eyes. It was gorgeous, actually. Veiny and thick and deliciously pink with a flushed sloping head.

As you rose to your knees, clear precome pearled at the tip. You spiraled your finger around the spongy head to spread it around. His cock jerked at your touch. You wrapped your other hand around the base to steady it as you teased him with your fingertips.

“Ah shit, that feels good,” he whispered.

You smiled, throwing a quick glance at his blushing face, before rubbing your thumb against the frenulum. He keened and tried to thrust into your hands. It made you wonder how it would feel inside you. His cock would probably stretch you to your limits, fill you completely. You thought of your legs hooked around his waist as he pounded you into the mattress.

You leaned forward and licked the shaft from the top your fist to the wet tip. His thighs spread, and he cursed. He tasted salty and clean, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at the fat head, letting your tongue press and massage at the underside.

He moaned your name and gripped your forearm. You didn’t know if it was a sign to keep going, but you did. His cock filled your mouth, and you struggled to keep your teeth away. You sucked hard and moaned around the weight of it. The musky heft of his dick was satisfying on your tongue, and you tilted your head as you took it deeper.

You ignored the stretch of your jaw and the aching of your knees. You slowly bobbed your head, keeping it steady and intense. You just wanted to make him feel good.

“Gotta stop, angel. Please…” He panted and closed his eyes. “Gonna blow any second.”

You pulled back, licking your swollen lips, spreading the taste of him in your mouth. Your disappointment must’ve been on your face.

“Been wantin’ you too long,” he explained. “And you’re so pretty. I can’t take it.”

You rubbed at his firm thighs. “You gotta let me finish one day, okay?”

“Oh, angel, you can do whatever you want with me later.”

You hummed and eyed his big cock, which was stiffly bobbing between his legs. “Promise?”

“Anything, but I need to be inside ya now.”

You wholeheartedly agreed with that. You shuffled back between the couch and coffee table to reach the Rite Aid bag. You pulled the condom box out and plucked one from the bunch. You put the square packet between your teeth and stood. Your knees complained, but it didn’t matter because you were about to fuck Clyde Logan. You wiggled out of your sleep-pants and let them drop to the floor.

Clyde squeezed the base of his cock and gritted his teeth. “Goddamn, honey, c'mere. How’d I get so lucky?”

You couldn’t help but bark out a laugh as you seated yourself on his thighs. You carefully tore open the packet, pinched the tip, and smoothed the condom down his cock. He helped near the base and laced his fingers with yours.

“Come up here and kiss me.”

You let him pull you up as you discarded the condom wrapper and knee-walked forward. He gave you a tender look and tilted his chin to offer a kiss, his kiss-swollen lips parting. As if you wouldn’t kiss him now. You’d do anything he asked.

You swooped in to kiss him, and he didn’t seem to mind the flavor of his cock on your tongue. He hummed into the kiss and released your hand as he traced his tongue over yours. He hugged you tight against his broad chest, and you let him take your weight.

“I wanna make you come,” he said after breaking the kiss.

“You will. I know it.”

God, did you ever. You were halfway there already; your cunt was already quivering and soaked. You were sure once that big dick of his was inside you, you were going to lose it and scream like hell.

“No, now. Will you let me?”

You huffed a laugh. Would you let him give you an orgasm? What kind of question was that?

You nodded. “I’m all yours.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded again, smiling.

“Well, I take care of what’s mine.”

“Then take care of me, Clyde Logan.”

He kissed you again, forceful and demanding. He pushed his flesh hand between your bodies to stop at your spread legs. You involuntarily jerked against his hand. It seemed your body needed the release as much as you did. He kissed your jaw and nosed under it to mouth at your neck.

Simultaneously, two of his big fingers pushed right into you. You groaned and let your head sag forward. It was almost enough. Your pussy clenched as your back hunched to get him deeper.

“So tight and wet,” he crooned as he pumped his fingers. “Been dreaming about this for weeks.”

You nodded and fisted his undone shirt and the couch as you rocked with his hand. Your breasts rubbed against his chest. He stilled his fingers and let you fuck yourself on them. You were about to plead for him to rub your clit when he did just that. His thumb drew fast circles over your clit, and you held yourself stationary to feel it all.

Your legs went taut as climax started to warm your gut. You bit your bottom lip and mewled. You squeezed your eyes shut as he kept going, kept ratcheting you higher and higher with his unrelenting fingers. You felt like a bubble about to burst.

“There we go—you’re almost there.”

You nodded, because you were right at the limit.

The warmth inside you abruptly blazed like a solar flare. He was relentless. You sagged against him as the heat of orgasm pulsed through you. It was almost shocking at how you couldn’t hold yourself up. Your cunt throbbed around his fingers quick and deep and powerful, stealing your strength and thoughts. You gnashed your teeth and keened.

He pressed his thumb against your clit, drawing out the ebbing contractions of your climax. You wanted to thank him, praise him, love him, fuck him and make him feel as good as you did right in this moment. You cursed and rocked against his strong hand just to keep it going.

Clyde eased the pressure and let you come down. You buried your face in his shoulder and tried to catch your breath.

“Oh God,” you breathed.  _“Fuckin’…”_

Shakily, you raised yourself onto your forearms and held his face. His dark eyes smoldered, and the lightest sheen of sweat made him glow in the warm light of the living room. You could cry at how beautiful he was.

You kissed him with gratitude and love. Because you  _loved_  him. Absolutely. Completely.

He eased his hand free and brought his anointed fingers to his mouth after you sat up. He sucked them clean and groaned at the taste of you. You rubbed your slick pussy against his cock. Even through the latex condom, you could feel his inexorable heat.

“You ready?” you asked as you took hold of his erection.

You weren’t sure you could take it, but you damn well wanted to try. He nodded and propped himself on his elbows. You both seemed to focus between your legs as you knelt and nestled the head of his dick against you.

You found the proper angle and took a deep breath. You willed your body to relax as you lowered yourself. With how wet you were, penetration wasn’t too much of a struggle. But he filled you. You felt his cock practically in your throat once you seated yourself fully on his lap.

“So perfect,” he groaned.

You circled your hips, getting used to being filled so thoroughly. It felt amazing. You nodded at his use of perfect. He was perfect for you.

You braced yourself against his chest. “Ready?”

“Shit, no, but don’t stop.”

You smiled, but it dissolved off your face once you began to ride him. The ridge of the head of his cock dragged along the walls of you pussy. You swore you could feel every vein. It was just this side of too much, but you liked it.

You moved faster and gasped as the last hint of your previous climax pulsed through you. If this kept going, you realized, you were going to come again. You felt him go rigid under you, and he began to move with you.

Every downward thrust became harder, the slide up faster. You moved your hips in a taut oval, riding him as you broke out in a sweat. His cock was rubbing against your g-spot.  _You thought._  You weren’t sure, but it felt incredible. You angled yourself so his cock hit it every time.

That familiar warmth filled you again. You knew what it meant and you wanted it. You gazed at his face to see him watching you. He caught you and stared back. You couldn’t look away now. You didn’t want to.

“You gonna come again?” he panted. “God, I want you to. Wanna feel it.”

You reached between your legs and put pressure on your sensitive clit. He sped up, heedless of your stuttering movements. You cried out—in shock, in ecstasy, in disbelief—and rammed yourself down. That was all it took. You came in great devastating waves. He fucked you through it. His huge cock—hard, hot, and heavy—thrust up into you again and again.

Until he went stiff and moaned like a broken man given relief for the first time in his life. You felt his cock pulse deep inside you as he came in the thin condom. You promised yourself through the haze of post-orgasm that in the future you would feel him flood you with his come. You wanted it dripping down your thighs. You wanted to smell like him for hours after he took you.

You ran your palms over his flushed chest. He collapsed against the couch with a weak groan. You went with him and laid your head on the ball of his shoulder. His arms came around you, and the cool alloy of his prosthetic rested against your shoulder blade. In reply, you snaked your hands under his back to hold him.

He wiggled under you and angled his hips to pull out. You whined at the loss despite lifting your hips to help. You hated it, yet understood. He tiredly explained he didn’t want the condom to get stuck in you. You hummed in agreement and suggested a shower, because you felt drenched, sweaty, and gooey.

“Together?” he asked.

You grunted an affirmative and squirmed on top of him for a kiss. He loosened his hold to cradle your cheek and fondly study your face. You wanted to duck away since you were all moist and sticky, but it was all because of him. He grinned and pulled you to him.

When he kissed you, all your reservations faded. You felt his love in his kiss and in the way he held you. You didn’t have to hear a declaration. You already knew it.


	9. Chapter 9

You awoke to cheerful birdsong and Clyde’s partial arm draped over your waist. The t-shirt you’d worn to bed was bunched up on your torso. You didn’t know if that had been Clyde’s doing, or just an effect of sleep. He was spooned behind you, his thighs tucked against yours. And though he was a furnace, one of you had kicked off most of the blankets sometime in the night.

You put a hand on his partial arm and smoothed your fingers over the soft skin.

“I thought I’d used up all my luck in Iraq,” he’d said last night as you pulled his prosthetic off for him. You’d both been in the bathroom, getting ready for a shared shower.

You placed the prosthetic on the counter. “I never thought I had much.”

“I’m beginning to suspect I have more than I guessed.”

“Me too,” you fondly said and put your arms around him.

He’d kissed the top of your head and held you tight. Behind him, the water for the shower had been warming.

You now wanted to turn over and look at his dozing face. You almost couldn’t believe he was lying with you, that he’d slept next to you. He’d been so sweet and attentive last night, so concerned that you’d be sore. You’d laughed and said that was unavoidable. You pointedly looked at his soft cock hanging heavy between his long legs as confirmation of your statement.

There was no getting around it. If you wanted to continue fucking Clyde, you’d have to acclimate to that big dick. You were sure you were up for the challenge.

He’d blushed and tried to hide his face, but you refused to let him. You kissed him and ran your hands up his sides. The raised flesh on the right side of his ribs—indeed, a tattoo—had caught your attention again. Since he was naked, you could see it was in the shape of an oversized dog tag.

“What is this?” you’d asked as you traced the black ink.

“Meat tag.” He turned to the side and lifted his arm. “That’s my DOD ID, blood type, and religion.”

You’d put your palm over it and raised yourself on tip-toe to kiss him. His service in the Army was all over his body, from his missing left hand and scars—even the ones you couldn’t see—to his tattoos. He’d kissed you lovingly as if trying to lessen a blow. But you weren’t the one who’d survived Iraq.

You turned your head on the pillow and found your neck a little stiff. You flexed your shoulder to stretch the muscles, but it didn’t really help. If you kept relaxed, it didn’t bother you much.

The same could be said for your pussy. You could feel the delicious tenderness between your legs. He’d been quite considerate in the shower. He’d used his big wet hand to clean all your come and the condom lube from between your legs. He’d teased you a little and trailed open-mouthed kisses up your neck. You’d returned the favor, happy to get your soapy hands all over his burly body.

Just thinking about it now had you squeezing your stiff thighs together. From behind you, Clyde sighed and lazily mouthed at the nape of your neck. He then purred and snuggled his hips against your rear. You could feel through your underwear the ridge of his cock resting in the cleft of your ass.

“You called me your boyfriend,” he hoarsely murmured.

You grinned. “I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

You turned over and winced a little as you jostled your neck. Before you could reply—because, hell yes, you’d meant it—he stated you were hurt. There was no point in denying it.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“Neck.” You tilted your head on the pillow to test how sore you were. It wasn’t bad, really. A little Advil would do you just fine.

He scooted back a few inches and slid his big hand between the pillow and your neck. “Here, lemme see if I can help.”

Clyde pinched and massaged the tendons at the base of your skull. It felt heavenly, and you groaned in relief. You closed your eyes and breathed deep as he continued. His hand was so warm, and his movements were slow and controlled. With each breath, you felt yourself melting little by little.

“I did mean it, by the way,” you half-slurred and kept your eyes closed. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Good—I want you to be my girlfriend.”

You smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

He paused the massage to kiss your temple. You turned your face to him and opened your eyes. His wavy hair was messy, but his eyes were unclouded as they looked back at you. You reached over to rest a hand on his bare chest.

You wanted to confess that you loved him. Seeing him like this, knowing he wasn’t demanding a damn thing from you, made you feel like your chest was about to implode. He was such a good man. He made you feel adored. He looked at you as if you were a godsend. No one had ever done that.

He leaned over and gave you a kiss. You skated your hand up his chest and shoulder to hold the nape of his neck. You kissed him back, ignoring the tightness of your own neck. You nipped at his bottom lip to get him to open his mouth. You didn’t care about morning breath. You just wanted him.

He faintly groaned and began giving you these open-mouthed kisses which left you squirming and pulling him closer. You turned further towards him and inched your knee over his hip. He hooked his partial arm behind your thigh pulled you to him.

His briefs didn’t hide anything. At all. You could feel every fevered inch of his cock against your belly. You undulated your hips, rubbing yourself against him as you kissed him. He rocked with you until he rolled you onto your back.

As he got between your legs and lowered himself onto his left elbow, he hummed, “I could get used to waking up like this.”

You smiled while directing his hand under your t-shirt and to your breast. “Me too.”

His palm cupped the side of your breast. He fondled you as he dipped down to kiss your neck. You writhed under him, pushing your groin against his and ignoring the strain in your neck. His dick was heavy between your bodies. You wanted to be full of him again. You wanted him to take you. His mouth was hot on your neck, his breath tickled your skin. You pulled at him, though you were unable to reach much farther than his shoulder blades.

“We need the condoms,” you panted.

“Are ya sure?”

“God, yes, give it to me.”

He made room between you, slunk his hand into your underwear, and dipped his fingers into your already-wet slit. He stroked your clit for a moment, and you whined for more. In reply, his hand moved further down. He watched you as he pushed one finger into your cunt. It wasn’t the most comfortable, though you were wet enough. You tried to keep the wince off your face, but you apparently failed.

“We can do other things,” he offered.

“No, I can do it. I want to.”

“And what about your neck?”

“But…” You felt the tightness of failure seize in your chest. You wanted it— _him_ —so bad, but your body wasn’t cooperating. You looked away and tried to breathe the tension out of your chest.

He took a gentle hold of your jaw to tilt your face to his. His middle finger was wet. He lowly ordered you to look at him. At first, you wanted to refuse, but you really couldn’t deny him anything.

Once your eyes met, he said, “I’m taking care of you.”

“But—”

“No, darlin’. I got this.”

He kissed you hard to silence any protest. Your objections burned away before they even solidified. His kisses were long, drawn-out; full of tongue and plush lips. He made you forget your body’s failure. You clung to him and tucked his hair behind his ears. He shivered and did a whole body roll against you.

You made a mental note that Clyde had sensitive ears. You would explore that later—when he’d let you. For now, you kissed him and rubbed your palms over his chest.

He paused and pulled back. “Will you let me taste that sweet pussy of yours?”

The way he asked made you again squirm in the best way. You felt yourself get wetter. Your cheeks were like flames, but you nodded.

He gave you another kiss before moving down to your throat. He left a trail of lazy, biting kisses down your neck. He pushed up your shirt to expose your breasts. He purred to himself as he caressed you.

His hand held one breast and squeezed it before he bent forward to take the nipple into his hot mouth. He nipped at it, licked it, kissed it. Each action had your breath catching in your throat. You arched to his mouth, uncaring at how your neck muscles pulled.

He rested his whiskered chin on your breastbone. “Relax.”

You slumped to the bed with a little pout.

“Aw, angel, don’t look at me like that. I just wanna make you feel good.”

“I know. I’m sorry I got into an accident…”

He scooted up the bed and kissed you again, silencing your apology. You hugged him and tasted his lips, his tongue. His hand was under your neck again, keeping you immobile and open to him.

“Some idiot hit you,” he corrected.

“Oh God, my car…”

He shushed you and kissed you quick. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

You nodded as much as you were able. You didn’t want to think about it. You wanted to focus on him. He gave you a soft look at seeing your determination before moving down to kiss your torso. He left a line of kisses down the center of your body. He nuzzled at your bellybutton, which had you wiggling and smiling.

Clyde nosed at the waistband of your underwear and gave a kiss to your belly before sitting up. He smoothed his hand down your body and hooked his fingers under the flimsy cotton. He warned you not to help—he could pull your panties off just fine, thank you.

You lay there and brought your thighs together to assist in a minimal way. He tugged your underwear down your hips easily enough and drew them up your legs until he could cast them over the side of the bed. You let your calves rest on one of his shoulders and adjusted the pillow under your head.

“Ready?” he asked.

You bit your lip and slowly bent your legs towards your torso, letting them fall open.

He knelt there for a second, staring between your legs. “Oh, you’re ready alright.”

He shifted down the bed, and you put your feet on the mattress. You didn’t know what to do with your hands. You wanted to reach for him or touch yourself, but instead you fisted the sheets.

“Do me a favor, honey, and spread yourself for me,” he requested as settled between your legs.

You used both hands to spread your labia for him. Usually, you’d be self-conscious, but the way he looked at you had you forgetting yourself. You felt his cool breath against your dripping cunt, and you whimpered in need.

“Shhh, I got you.”

And then his silky tongue licked a thick stripe up your folds. His goatee softly scratched against your skin. You let your head fall back with a groan. It felt wickedly wonderful.

His tongue was goddamn magic, too. He kissed and sucked and licked every inch of your pussy. He found every sweet spot and exploited it until you were a quivering mess. He nestled his tongue around your clit and gently sucked at it.

Your eyes went wide, and you moaned, begging, “Please!”

He tucked himself in closer and put his arms under your legs. His one hand had an iron grip on you, and you distantly realized you were writhing. You would apologize, but you couldn’t get enough of him.

He groaned into your folds and kept going. He laved your clit and sucked at it again. You rocked against his face as much as you were able, the tightness in your neck long forgotten.

You pleaded for him to keep going. You were so close. Your whole body was taut as a bowstring. Every part of you was thrumming and tight and stretched to the limit. He seemed to understand and was ruthless in pursuit of your pleasure.

You gasped as you were suddenly wrenched over that crest of orgasm. Your heart was a hammer in your chest. Your pussy was throbbing and flooded. But Clyde didn’t stop. He milked every drop of ecstasy from you and seemed to give you more than you could handle. Your orgasm went on and on until it was too much, it practically drowned you, and you flailed and twisted in his hold.

Your cunt kept clenching on nothing, and you cried to be filled. “Oh fuck, please fuck me, put it in me, I can handle it,  _please_ , Clyde!”

He gave your pussy one last lick before releasing your thigh and pushing a finger in you. You moaned at how good it felt and asked for more. You wanted all of him. You wanted his thick cock inside you, ramming deep until you couldn’t take it any more.

He slid another finger inside you, and you moaned. You reached for him, any part of him. Nothing hurt now, you were only aching with desire for him.

You touched his soft hair, pushed it away from his face. He looked up at you with dark, bewitching eyes and crooked his fingers inside you. With a whimper, you asked for his cock.

“Ya sure?” he asked.

“I can take it, promise. I jus’ want you so bad.”

He ducked his head, kissing your inner thigh, as he continued to stroke the front wall of your cunt. You groaned and flexed your hips down to meet his hand. It went on like that for a moment until he pulled away and sat up. He told you he’d be right back, because you’d forgotten the condoms in the living room, and ambled off the bed.

“You get that shirt off,” he said as he wiped at his damp face.

His briefs were tented with the weight of his dick. The sight made your mouth water. He must’ve noticed where you directed your attention and he gave you a shy grin—nothing more than a quirk of the lips—before blatantly adjusting his erection. You huffed out a laugh as you scooted up the bed, watching him march out of the bedroom.

You didn’t have much time to get ready before he came back. You sat up and let your t-shirt flop down as you waited for him. Once he was in the doorway, you made a show of crossing your arms over your chest and dragging the t-shirt up and over your head. You met his eyes as you tossed the shirt away.

“Take that underwear off, handsome.”

He threw the slim black box onto the bed, and you slid it closer to get a condom out. He walked to the side of the bed and wiggled out of his briefs. For a handful of seconds, he stood there looking perfect and delectable. You didn’t know where to focus. And yes, you’d seen him naked last night. Had even had your hands on him. But this was different.

His shoulders were broad, his neck was elegant, his chest was developed and blushed pink. His sharp cheekbones were as well. His lips were plump and practically red. You bit your bottom lip as you thought of what those lips—his mouth—could do, and had done, to you. His hips were square and tight, the iliac furrows on either side drew you attention to his flushed, hard cock. As you studied him, a clear bead of precome oozed down the head of his dick to drip onto the carpet.

You stared up at him and leaned back on your elbows, your neck hardly troubling you anymore. He took your recline as the invitation it was. He put a knee on the bed and swung his other leg between yours. You made space for him as he braced himself on his right hand and maneuvered between your thighs.

Clyde stole the condom packet from you and tore it open. You were about to offer some assistance, but he had it halfway down his shaft in seconds. He reoriented the tip a little and rolled it down the rest of the way. Watching him get ready for you was an unexpected turn-on.

You caressed the underside of his dick, feeling the heat of him through the condom. You let your fingertips trace over his fist at the base. You went lower to pet his balls. They were drawn up, but you could feel the firm ovoids inside the supple sac. You fondled him, running your fingers between the ovoids, holding them in your palm.

A glance up revealed his closed eyes and heaving chest. You skimmed your hand over his forearm and up his stomach as you laid back.

“C'mere, sweetheart, lemme kiss you,” you softly requested.

He let out a little wanting noise as he got on his elbows above you. His hair curtained you as he dipped in to press his lips to yours. He smelled like your come and sweat. You tasted the tang of yourself on his lips.

You whispered between kisses, “I can’t wait anymore.”

He shook his head in agreement.

You let your bent legs drop open, resting your hands on his sides, and he took hold of his cock to guide himself in. Just like last night, you relaxed as you felt the head nudge at your opening. You met his eyes and told him you were okay as he began to push inside.

He nodded. “You’ll stop me if it hurts.”

You smiled up at him. “Yes, sir.”

You felt his cock jerk, and your mouth fell open. His blush deepened right before your eyes. You didn’t know that would be a thing for him. But you could work with that later.

For now, you breathed as he slid all the way inside you. You were so wet, he seemed to glide right in. You groaned. It didn’t hurt. No, you were just full of his heavy cock.  _Finally._

Your pussy involuntarily clenched down on him when he arranged his pelvis against yours. He panted as he let his head drop to rest on your shoulder. You rolled your hips just to feel how well he filled you. You couldn’t stop the small sound from escaping your mouth. You’d never had it like this.

“Please move,” you whispered. “I can take it.”

That might’ve been a lie, but you wouldn’t take it back.

Clyde slowly rocked his hips, and you moved with him. Each time your bodies met, he heaved a little groan. He tucked his face in your neck, and you leaned your cheek against his hair. As he began to move faster, pleasured whimpers were literally fucked out of you. He was so big and deep. He stroked sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had.

He widened his stance and positioned himself higher on your body. The first thrust like that had you arching and moaning in delighted shock. You clawed at his back, and he growled. Your cunt tried to clench, but you couldn’t. He was too much. It was a sweet predicament.

He pushed his hot hand under the nape of your neck to grip it. It was just this side of too tight and it felt good. He fucked you faster, harder, going deep, and your eyes went wide. You keened and gnashed your teeth.

“Feel so good, honey,” he breathlessly murmured. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You whimpered and curled around him as he gave you what you’d fantasized about weeks ago. The bed squeaked with each of his powerful thrusts. You couldn’t take it, whatever was building inside you, you couldn’t.

Your forehead bumped against Clyde’s shoulder, and you rubbed your face against his damp skin. Fuck, he smelled delicious—all musk and male—and so right. You bit at the cord of muscle between his neck and shoulder. He groaned as he pushed into the pain.

He crashed into you, his hips slapping against yours, over and over. You wrenched your teeth off his skin with a moan. You couldn’t stop how your body was tensing under him, tightening up for a devastating release. You mouthed at the bite, kissing the sweat off his skin.

With a gasp you mindlessly rambled, “Please don’t stop,  _don’t stop_ , love ya so much,  _don’t stop_.”

But he did stop, and you whined.

“What?” he asked as he raised himself to meet your eyes.

You wiggled under him, trying to get him to move. “Why’d you stop?”

“Ya love me.”

“Wha?”

Oh crap, you’d said it, hadn’t you?

“I love you, too.”

“Wh—”

He didn’t give you time to react, he kissed you hard and began fucking you in earnest. You clung to him as your heart overflowed with adoration. You stared into his burning, dark eyes.

Clyde Logan  _loved_  you. He wanted you—only you. He gave you his all.

He pressed his forehead against yours, and you closed your eyes. All your nerves were alight. You felt everything: from the slick sweat on your inner thighs to the rasp of his treasure trail against your belly to his fever-hot hand enfolding the back of your neck. You held his gorgeous face in your hands and sobbed as climax swelled. His big cock pistoned in an unyielding rhythm. He fucked you into an orgasm that was all heat and love and sharp pleasure.

Your pussy throbbed, robbing you of strength, and it squeezed his pumping cock. Each hard thrust ratcheted your delirious state higher until everything dissolved around you. You felt his fast breath against your lips, his hand grounding you, his warmth and tenderness.

“Come in me,” you whispered. “Fill me up. I wanna feel it.”

He groaned out an ‘uh-huh’ until it cut off abruptly. He thrust in one powerful time and knocked a breathless moan from you. He held you tight and ground you into the mattress. You felt his cock go rock hard and pulse inside you. You brokenly purred, knowing he was coming.

How you wished there wasn’t a condom keeping you from feeling it.

You opened your eyes to see his brow furrowed in ecstasy. His cheeks were rosy. His lashes were clumped together with moisture.

You smiled. God, you loved him.

Then he was staring back to study you with the equal focus. Those beautiful brown eyes of his were glassy with tears. You caressed his high cheekbones with your thumbs.

He seemed to hesitate for a second before leaning in to kiss you. You pushed your fingers into his heavy, damp hair and deepened the kiss. The tip of your tongue smoothed across his. You drew him closer, deeper. You tasted the salt of sweat and the tang of your juices.

He pulled back to ask again, “Did you mean it?”

“Of course I did.” You corrected,  _“I do._  I’ve loved you for weeks now.”

His chin wobbled. “Damn.” He shook his head as he cleared his throat. “I love you, angel.”

You pulled him in for another kiss. He slumped against you, weighing you down. He was a heavenly weight to bear, and you hugged him tight until he hauled himself away with a soft groan.

He steadied the condom on his flagging cock and gently eased out. You felt deliciously used. Your pussy was drenched, tender, and gaping from the way he’d thoroughly fucked you. You rested your legs and stretched your back. He told you he’d be right back, and you watched him totter out of the bedroom.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling fan, you rolled over and realized you really, really had to pee. You gracelessly got to your feet and staggered to the bathroom. You met him at the bathroom doorway and told him you needed the commode. He had a wet washcloth in his hand and he handed it over before trading you places.

He closed the door for you, and you did your business. You wiped up and gave yourself a quick gas-station bath with the washcloth. You’d take a real shower later. Much later. When your legs didn’t feel like jelly.

You went back to the bedroom to find him spread out on your bed. It was a satisfying scene—one you could get used to. Or were already.

He turned his head to look at you and raised his arm to welcome you back to bed. You noted then the top sheet had been unrolled over the mattress. You padded over and flopped down next to him, tucking your feet under the messy blanket wadded at the bottom of the bed.

Clyde took your hand and laid next to you in silence. You were drifting off when he softly said:

“I’d like to replace your car.”

You hummed an inquisitive noise. “What? I can’t accept a car. You don’t have to do that.”

“Maybe I don’t, but I want to just the same.”

He sounded resolute, and you appreciated it, but…

“I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but how?”

He was just a bartender. You were sure tips were good, but not  _that_ good to buy you a whole car.

“I got some money saved,” he said and gave your hand an affectionate squeeze.

“Well, so do I.”

“Not as much as me.”

You scoffed and rolled to face him. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, angel, I do.” He wryly grinned. “We got money now. It’ll be no big deal.”

 _“We?”_  you asked, letting go of his hand to prop yourself on an elbow.

He glanced at you. “Yeah, the family.”

“What do you mean, your family’s got money now? Why do you still live in a trailer, then?” You pointed out, “It’s not even a double-wide!”

He frowned. “Jimmy came up with a plan.”

“To save money?”

“To  _get_  money.”

You thought of the news article about the Charlotte Motor Speedway robbery you’d read when investigating Agent Grayson. She’d gone after the Logans like she knew something everyone else didn’t. Because why would a federal agent be interested in spying on a disabled war veteran and his family? It made no sense. Clyde had never said he was innocent, either, only that the investigation had been dropped.

You met his eyes.  _“Clyde…”_

He said nothing.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on?”

He remained quiet.

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a second. “Are you and Jimmy the Redneck Robbers?”

“You can’t tell nobody.”

 _“Clyde!”_  You sat up in shock. “What the hell?!”

“You can’t tell,” he repeated.

“I’m not gonna tell. But,  _oh my God!”_  You swiveled on your hip to face him, and your knees knocked into his side. “They said you gave it all back. We talked for weeks about how stupid that was.” You shook your head. “I remember thinking what I’d do with all that money.”

“What would you do?” he softly asked and draped his arm over your knees.

“Fix up the house, pay off my student loans.” You shrugged and rested your hands on his forearm. “Give my parents a Caribbean cruise vacation.”

“Nothin’ nice for you?”

You petted his arm, luxuriating in the silkiness of his skin and the nice texture of his arm hair. “Money can’t buy what I want.”

“Which is…?”

You briefly met his searching eyes. “Well…” You focused on his long, muscled arm. “I guess, you.”

Clyde didn’t say anything as he pulled his arm out of your loose grip. You almost protested because you didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. However, instead of getting away from you, he reached behind you and urged you closer with a hand on your ass.

You looked up to see him happy. His eyes glowed in the light filtering in through the closed, diaphanous drapes. He was smiling, all dazzling and sweet. You bent forward and kissed him. He kept tugging at you, though, until you were lying across his chest. That, apparently, satisfied him, and he wrapped his arms behind your back.

He hummed into the kiss and pulled away. “You got me.”

You pillowed your head on his shoulder and said, “I still can’t accept a car. It’s too much.”

“No more arguin’ about a car.”

“But, Clyde…”

“No, I can do it. We didn’t give it all back, you know. And I wanna do this for you.”

“But—”

“If I had argued this much in the service, I woulda gotten dropped.”

You grinned, though you weren’t sure what “dropped” meant. Obviously, it was some sort of punishment. “If I keep arguin’, are ya gonna spank me?”

“Oh, angel, I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I think a kiss will do for now.”

You could hear the smile in his voice when he replied: “I can do that.”

You moved up his body and kissed him with all the love you had for him. He melted under you and held you close—with his hand firmly on your ass. Right then, his stomach growled long and low. You giggled into the kiss.

“How about some food?” you offered.

“You got any a those strawberry Eggos?”

“No, but I got cereal bars. A real sweetheart got 'em last night.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled up at you. “Well, you should thank 'em.”

“Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?” you mused and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

He hummed out, “Thank  _you_ , angel.”

You lay there for a moment, just enjoying his arms around you. With a sigh, you broke the peace with the mention of breakfast. He patted your ass and agreed.

“Let’s make some breakfast.”

You rolled off him and then the bed. You put on underwear and the t-shirt you’d slept in. Clyde didn’t have much, so you suggested he wear your long knit robe in the meantime. The robe gaped at his chest, but went around him fine nonetheless. You tied the belt around his waist for him and leaned up to kiss him one more time.

“How about patty melts?” you asked.

He beamed at you, his brown eyes radiant and sparkling. “That sounds perfect.”

You took his hand and walked him out to the kitchen. The idea that he and Jimmy, and probably Mellie, had robbed the Speedway was slowly sinking in. The Logans were  _rich_  now, you realized, if what Clyde said was true, and they’d kept a good portion of the money. Maybe the Logans weren’t so unlucky after all.

Maybe you were lucky, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking time out of your life to read my nonsense! I appreciate every comment and kudos. You have no idea what it means to me. Thank you!
> 
> [listen to the duck tape jukebox](https://open.spotify.com/user/kiribana/playlist/2enSYbIOej9i4MacKSDZVO?si=lgHIamXaTG-HsKP1XptXWA) | [my tumblr](http://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com)


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